


Taking Every Chance I've Got

by nagirci, Rhensis



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (Sort of it kinda is we'll roll with it okay?), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Beware, Blood, Bloodplay, Fluff, Humor, IT'S BEAUTIFUL, M/M, Minor Violence, Sarcasm, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, also, honestly we're just taking the piss out of vampire cliches, lots of jokes in referral to dan's dick in the second part, okay edit made by northerndinosaurr, slight tw for implied suicidal thoughts in the second part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 59,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagirci/pseuds/nagirci, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhensis/pseuds/Rhensis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Dan wanted was to get drunk, really. Have a good time, meet a few new people. He didn’t really think about getting involved with someone as dangerous as Phil Lester (someone as cold, as pale and, well, as <i>not alive</i>), and he definitely didn’t think that one trip out to a bar would change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for the [phandom big bang 2014](http://phandombigbang.co.vu/)!!! And as such we therefore of course have to show you the wonderful art [HERE](http://goindanswingin.tumblr.com/post/99261556808/official-art-lol-what-none-of-this-is-official) and [HERE](http://goindanswingin.tumblr.com/post/99261592333/ill-be-lost-until-you-come-and-find-me-like-the) made by the amazing [Emma](http://goindanswingin.tumblr.com/), and our spectacular beta [Abby](http://phantasticalities.tumblr.com/)!! We hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it, and be sure to check out the rest of the bb fics!

Dan’s having a good night, great in fact, until he catches sight of PJ storming across the room in his direction.

Honestly, he has to repress the roll of his eyes at the sight of his best friend walking purposefully towards him. He’s probably about to receive a lecture, or be told that he’s urgently needed somewhere else (Dan’s not sure how PJ manages to always end up making his videos at the worst times possible, or why it’s Dan that he constantly pulls in as an extra), and that kind of interruption is the _last_ thing he needs right now. Knowing that he’s probably about to be torn away from the gorgeous boy in front of him, who he’s just getting started with, is enough to make him want to throw the glass bottle in his hand at the approaching man.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Dan mumbles quietly, and he sees the faint flicker of confusion in the boy’s cerulean eyes before he turns around to face his friend.

“Daniel Howell, what the fuck do you actually think you’re doing?” The voice is more like a growl than anything else. Dan raises an eyebrow in surprise, and leans a little away from him as a reflex reaction, even though he’s not really intimidated or infuriated at all. It’s just, even though PJ is a right fucking cockblock, he’s never usually so sharp about it, never usually so sensitive, never usually behaving quite so _on edge_ about it. And, well, he’s never so quick to move on to the other person, if he even bothers acknowledging them at all.

He does with this one, though. There’s a kind of steely look in his eyes that Dan has never seen before, cold and hostile and almost as if he’s ready to… almost as if he’s ready to _kill_ , as a matter of fact. It’s not exactly like Dan actually makes a habit of seeking out the appearance of his friends’ murderous faces (that’d probably be a bit strange, even by his standards), but if he did, then this would be exactly what he imagined for PJ. And he doesn’t know what surprises him more; the fact that PJ is wearing such a look, or the fact that he can see almost the same one reflected in the eyes of his companion, maybe minus the edge that wishes death.

Or maybe it’s neither of those, but instead the way that PJ slides the ornate, small glass bottle half full of clear liquid out of his back pocket - how the pockets of his skinny jeans are even big enough, Dan will never know - and holds it in front of him like a weapon. Maybe it’s even the way that, when Dan looks back at him, the other man doesn’t even look the slightest bit concerned for PJ’s mental health. He just eyes the bottle, maybe a bit warily, despite the cool blue of his eyes remaining largely unfazed by the oddity of PJ’s actions. Dan supposes maybe he’s just had a bit too much to drink.

“I’d be leaving if I were you,” PJ says curtly, voice neither slurred nor unclear. “I’ve got people I can call to help me out, if need be.”

The man’s lips set in a taut, thin line, and Dan swears for just a minute that he can _hear_ his mind whirring as to what to do. It’s not that Dan isn’t in the mood to witness a bar fight or anything, but he’d much rather not have to see one between his best friend and the guy he was trying to get off with; he’s just hoping that one of them will back down before it actually gets to that point. So of course, it’s all he can do not to heave a sigh of relief when the man shakes his head and smiles serenely, regarding PJ with a kind of hostility in his eyes that fades when he switches his gaze back to Dan, changing to silent apology.

“Well then,” he says matter-of-factly, “I think I’ll be going. Lovely meeting you Dan, really.” He gives the back of Dan's hand the tiniest pat as he gets up, not wanting to have to move it to shake it - handshakes are so _formal_ , anyway. Not really the type of thing you’d share with a boy you were trying to pull at a bar. But Dan’s disappointed, he is, because he was actually having a nice conversation before Mr McCockblocker had to intervene. Even as the other boy gives PJ an easy grin, all white teeth and accompanied with a stare as hard as diamond, it’s hard to place why PJ is looking at him like that. At his mouth instead of his eyes, that is. But, before Dan can get a glance for himself, the guy is gone, walking briskly away from them.

Dan turns to PJ, looks at the way he stares after the man, looks at the way his hands tremble ever so slightly, and a brief conclusion forms in his head. “Y’know, Peej,” he says after a minute or two, taking the bottle from PJ’s loosened grip and putting it onto the bar, “if he was an ex, all you had to do was tell me.”

That seems to snap PJ out of it a little bit. “ _What_ did you just say?”

“If you didn’t want me flirting with your ex, all you had to do was say.” Dan gestures to the vial on the bar. “I think threatening to pour whatever this is on him was a bit much, don’t you?”

And for a moment, PJ doesn’t know what to say; he just looks at Dan with the kind of incredulity that Dan would associate with someone who’d just seen a ghost. He doesn’t know what to feel at having… at having _that_ being confused for one of his exes. Or having any relation to him at _all_ , to be frank. He doesn’t know whether to be angry or insulted or a mix of the two, so much so that he just about manages to bite out “He’s not my ex. _Please_ , I have better taste than _some_ of us in this room.”

“Then what the actual _fuck_ ,” Dan shoots back, “do you think you’re doing?” He decides to ignore the comment about taste because it’s a personal opinion, and because it’s what _he_ likes, and because PJ is just jealous because the boy was _so_ fucking attractive and Dan got there first. “Honestly! I was literally _just about_ to ask if he wanted to go somewhere else! I was about to get laid! Just because you’re jealous that no one would bother to-”

“Look out for me like that?” PJ interrupts, voice deadpan. “Funny, Dan, the only laid you would have been getting with _that guy_ would have been in a grave.”

And Dan doesn’t know what to say that. So he doesn’t say anything; he simply lets a small silence settle between the two of them as he narrows his eyes, trying to concentrate on what PJ _possibly_ could have meant by that. In a _grave_? Dan is only twenty-three. And perhaps he’s a little less fit than the average guy his age, but that doesn’t mean he’ll drop dead just by fucking someone. So it can’t be that; the only other thing that’s coming to his head is that the man was some kind of murderer or another scary kind of criminal and 1) he has no idea how PJ would even know that and 2) he just didn’t seem like the type. So all he can do is frown and say: “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

It’s not like Dan to get angry this easily, and he’s not angry. He’s _not_. He’s just a little _frustrated,_ that’s all, because he was actually having a nice conversation until PJ came and ruined it all. And, well, he’s not exactly cool with his friend implying that a man he tried to pick up at a bar is some kind of serial killer, either. But never mind frustrated, he does feel a little bit of anger spark through him when PJ shakes his head and replies “Does it even _matter_?” because it does. If Dan can’t get with this man because his best friend says so, he wants to know why.

“Y’know, I bet he’s still outside,” Dan drawls with a sigh. “He was really fucking nice, Peej. Maybe I could just go out and pick up where I left off.” That sounds nice. Maybe it’d actually get him laid, too, which is more than what PJ’s had in a long time, judging by the stick that seems to be permanently up his arse lately.

Still, the way that PJ visibly tenses makes Dan hesitate for just a moment, squinting his eyes slightly in confusion at his friend’s reaction. If it was simply jealousy that made PJ bring out his remarkable ability to stop Dan getting laid, then Dan’s pretty sure that he would have let it go by now, if for no other reason than not wanting to prove that Dan’s right about the jealousy thing.

Dan’s eyes flicker down to where PJ is wringing his hands in his lap, fiddling around anxiously as he looks from Dan to the small bottle on the bar, chewing the inside of his lip as if contemplating something.

“Fine, well, if you’re not going to tell me otherwise, then I’ll just be go-”

“No!” PJ almost _shouts_ , attracting the attention of at least ten people around him despite the beat of the music that’s pulsing through the bar. A hand is wrapped around Dan’s arm and the brunette gasps at the tight grip, wincing at the way PJ’s nails dig slightly into his skin.

With a shaky laugh, Dan raises an eyebrow and lets the first joke he thinks of roll from his lips, “PJ mate, I could kind of do without you fucking with my circulation, if you don’t mind,”

The grip lessens, but PJ doesn’t relinquish Dan’s arm, and when he looks up from the limb to PJ’s face, he can see the way that his friend’s eyes are widened, almost to the point where it’s comical. Unlike usual, though, Dan isn’t laughing, and he opens his mouth to ask what the _hell_ is wrong, and whether PJ needs a doctor or something, when he’s interrupted with words that he’s not sure if he can believe.

“He was a vampire.”

Dan is very glad in that moment that he wasn’t still sipping on his drink, because if he were then he probably would have choked on it, and it would have been _him_ that needed that doctor. He takes a moment to glance at PJ’s eyes to see if they’re bloodshot, and is almost surprised to see that they’re not. It’s not like PJ does much of anything, but still, if the guy’s rambling about fucking _vampires_ , then he’s got to be on something, surely?

“Right. Real funny, Peej. Don’t want to admit you’re just jealous or something? Because if that’s it, vampires are a really, really lame excuse. You could have at least picked something that’s actually real, y’know,” Dan grins with his words, shaking his head a little at the ludicrousy of PJ’s excuse. He must really be desperate, Dan thinks.

“Fuck, do I look like I’m joking?” PJ brushes a hand through his curls, and Dan can’t help but notice that it’s still shaking, even just a little. “This is the main reason why I’d never told you, you’re such a closed-minded idiot at times. Did you not notice that something was up with him? The fucking sharp teeth for starters, and then there’s the bloody _clothes_ -"

“What was wrong with his clothes?” Dan interjects with the tone of a whining four year old. He presses a hand to his chest in mock injury, and PJ rolls his eyes.

“They were fucking _leather_ ,” PJ hisses, waving his hands around a little in exasperation.

“So? You’ve put me in weirder outfits for your fucking videos man. Besides, I just thought he was my kinda guy,” Dan dismisses PJ with a shrug, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his friend’s shaking hands, which Dan can tell he’s trying to hide by folding them in his lap.

“God, you’re such a prick. I should have just let him bite you,” PJ grumbles, and Dan looks up at the ceiling with feigned consideration, before tilting his head to one side.

“I don’t think I would mind a little biting. Sounds hot, if you ask me."

That seems to really set something in PJ off, because previously wandering eyes fixate straight on Dan, glaring at him harshly as he spits out his words, “I’m being serious. You’re not thick, Dan. The second you’d gotten behind closed doors with that guy you would have been done for. I’m not losing my best friend to a fucking _leech_ -”

“Phil."

PJ pauses, blinks. “What?”

“Phil,” Dan repeats. “His name is Phil.”

And PJ’s eyes roll so hard that Dan thinks it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of his skull. "Right, thanks for that,” he says sarcastically. “That'll _really_ come in handy when he's ripping your throat out, what the fuck, Dan, I don't care what his name is."

“God, you’re rude,” Dan replies, tapping his fingers on the bar with a kind of almost _impatience_ , because he’s kind of tired of this story - PJ has not way of proving it, after all.

PJ sighs, pondering for just a moment if he should say what he’s thinking say what he know will shock Dan into believing him. He doesn’t want to _scare_ him, not really, but if that’s what’ll get him to understand that what PJ is saying is true, then he has to give it a shot. He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t really have anything else, he doesn’t really have any other proof. “Chris is one, as well,” he says as quietly as he can to still be heard over the music in the room.

This time, Dan actually _does_ choke, except it’s on thin air. The air he’s breathing in gets trapped in his throat, unable to move up or down, and he finds himself sputtering for just a moment. “ _Chris_?” he says, once he gets his breath back.

PJ nods. “But it’s, it’s different with Chris,” he assures Dan, finally proud he’s got some proof. “We don’t know what; maybe he didn’t finish turning all the way, or maybe something else fucked up. But he’s different, Dan.” He’s not like _them_ , like those _things_ that roam the streets at night for nothing more than a meal. Chris is still there, Chris is still just a little bit human, even if he’s not all the way alive anymore.

“Dude, you’ve got to be fucking with me,” Dan says, voice laced with disbelief. But even he knows he’s clutching at straws because, well it makes an alarming amount of sense. He hasn’t seen Chris out and about during the day for a long while - in fact, the last time was _months_ ago - and if what PJ is saying is true, then it’d mean the reason he wasn’t out during the day was that he couldn’t have been. “This isn’t funny, seriously, if that’s what you think.”

PJ shrugs. “Well, I’m just surprised you ignored me when I first mentioned it to you,” he says. It was a few months ago, mind, when Chris had just been turned, but Dan’s eyes widen at the memory because oh, _oh_ , PJ isn’t bullshitting. He isn’t bullshitting, and Dan knows that now, because he remembers being told.

“You were _serious_?” he replies. “I thought that was just a rejected idea for a video!”

“You absolute _twat_ ,” PJ retorts, shaking his head. Dan is a great friend, he really is; up for anything most of the time, great for a laugh, but _god_ , is he oblivious sometimes. Then, after a moment of Dan’s stunned silence, “Believe me now?”

And honestly, Dan wants to say no. He wants to say that PJ is making everything up because he’s jealous or because he’s just a grumpy cockblock, but he can’t. That’s the one thing he really hates about PJ - it’s _really_ hard to tell when he’s bullshitting. But something tells Dan that he’s not doing it now. Not only does Chris being one make a scary amount of sense, so does Phil being one. Now that Dan thinks about it, so does Phil being one. Now that the issue is practically resolved, _so does Phil being one_. So he just swallows, and nods, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I believe you.”

PJ sighs, his exhaled breath so loud that it’s almost audible over the music, but not quite. “Fucking finally.”

“So this,” Dan says, gesturing at the intricately designed bottle on the bar, feeling sick for just a moment at the idea of what PJ could have used it for. “Is this-”

“Holy water? Yep.”

“Right.”

And they’re silent again, because the weight of it hits Dan like a pile of bricks. Fuck, if PJ hadn’t intervened, he could well be lying dead in that guy’s apartment by now. If PJ hadn’t come along, then he could very well have been killed on the way home. If PJ hadn’t- god, Dan doesn’t even want to think about it anymore, because this isn’t _normal_. They aren’t supposed to exist, they aren’t supposed to be real. They’re only supposed to exist in nightmares and TV shows and really shtty teen romance novels, but they’ve somehow materialised on the streets (and in the bars, no less) of London.

And perhaps it’s that that makes Dan push the bottle back toward PJ, and stand to leave. “I’m going home,” he says tiredly. “You know? I just need to think. Thanks for that, mate.” He gives a wan grin, and barely stops to listen to PJ call out in response, “Okay. But take a fucking cab.”

-

Guess who doesn’t take a fucking cab.

Dan knows why PJ told him to get a cab, but he just doesn’t want to. He wants to get home - somehow the idea that the dead aren’t so dead after all is enough to put Dan off of partying - and he needs fresh air, which he isn’t going to get in the back of a cab. His apartment isn’t far, anyway. Ten minutes, at most; what could go wrong in ten minutes?

A lot, apparently. He almost groans out loud when he sees the figure standing in the pool of faint light beneath a street lamp literally meters away from the back door of bar (he knows that it’s quicker to get home this way, and he’d figured that no one would be around), and he shakes his head at himself.

Of course, the damn vampire that almost took him home for a quick midnight snack would still be standing outside, wouldn’t he? The light is dim, but Phil has one of those faces that you can never quite forget, one of those that frequents your dreams even when you can never quite place a finger on where you saw them first.

It’s not like he can back out now - the likelihood is that Phil has already noticed that he’s there, so he’d just follow him back into the bar - so he takes a deep breath and a step forward. A voice in the back of his head screams at him, trying to figure out why the _hell_ he’s walking towards a bloody _vampire_ , but he ignores it, stuffing his hands into his pockets and half-sauntering down the back alley.

“Really fucking rude, y’know. You being a vampire and all that,” Dan grumbles, loud enough for Phil to hear. Back in the bar he was having to talk loud enough to be heard that his voice is a little hoarse, and the quiet words echoing so loudly sound wrong to his ears.

“What?” A familiar voice asks as the figure turns around to face Dan, who’s mere steps away from him now.

“Why is it that all the hot guys I like turn out to be creeps. To start with, there was that guy I liked in high school with a bunch of really weird fetishes-”

“I’m not a creep,” Phil protests, crossing his arms and pouting a little.

Raising an eyebrow, Dan stops in his path and crosses his own arms, mimicking Phil’s actions. “Oh, yeah. Because it’s not hella creepy that you’re just stood outside a club, waiting for a guy to come along so you can suck on their blood, or whatever it is that you do.”

Sighing, Phil pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. That wasn’t what he intended when he came out here to wait for Dan, not at all, but honestly, the guy has probably just been told a thousand things that are wrong with Phil’s species by the other man at the bar (who definitely had the look of a hunter about him), and Dan is never going to believe whatever rebuttal he puts forward.

Instead, he hastily changes the subject, puckering his lips as he talks, “Just so you know, you might want to tell your hunter friend to ditch all the old myths and legends. Holy water doesn’t do shit to us.”

“I think PJ would know what works and what doesn’t,” Dan begins, but he’s interrupted by Phil snorting.

“What a great joke. Hunters don’t know jack about anything. But it’s okay, let your friend continue to believe it. Eventually he’ll get killed for it, but it’s not like I didn’t warn you.”

At that, something inside Dan snaps and he turns to face the other man, eyes angry and thoughts poised. “Look,” he starts, but looking at Phil almost makes him forget how to use his words and he doesn’t know quite how to follow it up. He knows what he wants to say, but he can’t find the words to say it. But it has to be something; Phil’s expecting it. Dan can tell by the way his arms are folded and his eyebrows are lifted and the way his foot taps impatiently against the ground beneath them. He needs to find something, and after a minute, he does.

“I’m just really pissed off that you’re a vampire, okay?” He says bluntly, shaking off his sudden burst of anger and continuing to walk, Phil falling into step beside him after a moment. “Like, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out for coffee with me tomorrow, and it turns out you can’t even go out during the day. Thanks for letting me know that, dickcheese.” He punctuates that with a pointed glare. “And another thing! I can’t believe you actually pretended to listen to me talk for that long while you were just planning to kill me anyway! That’s, like, that’s worse than a pity fuck!”

Phil frowns back. “How is that worse than a pity fuck?”

“You were just, you weren’t even listening, were you? You were probably just thinking of ways to slice me open.” He stops walking again, because he’s seriously pissed off by this - he didn’t think it bothered him so much before, but now he thinks about it, that’s really fucking weird, uncomfortably weird. “It’s like, the creepy vampire equivalent of staring at girls’ chests.”

“You don’t stare at girls’ chests?”

“No, I don’t get _caught_.” Dan’s eyes are narrowed as he stares Phil down, the man looking only marginally less composed than he did when PJ first appeared, like this means absolutely nothing. “Anyway, the point is that pretending to listen to me talk while you plot my murder isn’t really very polite. Learn some fucking manners, will you?”

“You’re talking to me about manners? I’m pretty sure your motives for talking to me weren’t exactly pure,” Phil points out, and Dan can’t stop the blush that starts to spread over his cheeks.

Really, he can’t deny that accusation. He was looking to get laid if he’s honest, but still, the second he’d started talking to Phil he’d made a mental note to make sure that it didn’t end up being one of those one night stands where names weren’t even learnt. He’d wanted to get Phil’s number, and like he’d said earlier, he was going to offer to take the guy out for coffee, for God’s sakes, which is probably the most gentlemanly gesture he’s ever thought of making in his whole life. Besides, fucking around with someone isn’t exactly comparable to leaving their body in the middle of the street.

“Right, yes,” Dan counters, “Because sleeping with someone is way worse than fucking _killing_ them, right Phil?”

That seems to have struck something with Phil, because that look is back. His mouth is set in a tight line and he just looks at Dan like he doesn’t know what to say, even though Dan can practically see him weighing up options. And maybe he shouldn’t have been as blunt as he just was, but murder is murder. Has to be, right? Yes, because Dan’s not giving himself time to feel guilty over something like that. He just as to remind himself that this man was going to _kill_ him, and that’s all he needs to force out a “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” and push right past Phil, right in the direction of his home, leaving Phil standing alone just to think.

-

Dan keeps his window shut that night.

He keeps it shut because he quite likes the idea of keeping the horrors of the outside world actually _on the outside_ , and maybe he's not even talking about vampires; after all, he's seen some fucking huge moths about lately, with the onset of summer. Then again, the knowledge that the living dead are walking amongst the human race is just a little bit unnerving. Just a _little bit._

He’s still having trouble processing it. Every film he’s seen, every book he’s read, he’s never really _believed_ any of it. He’d be daft if he did, by his own standards. The idea of a _corpse_ rising just to drink the blood of humans seems a little bit far-fetched, aside from biologically impossible. Once someone is dead, they’re supposed to _stay_ dead, so says science (and common sense at that). But it seems like stranger things have happened. He can’t even blame it on alcohol consumption, being drunk - he had two cocktails, maximum. It’s all real.

Maybe that’s why he’s putting up with PJ dragging him out at stupid o'clock in the morning to go to one of the “gatherings” he’s been attending for all this time. Ten is too early, considering he barely slept because of the very real possibility of a fucking _vampire_ being right outside his window. He gets up late as it is, but the fact that he didn’t sleep much last night makes this _ridiculous_. He’s made a mental note to make PJ pay somehow.

“What’s the point of this again?” Dan asks as he allows PJ to lead him downstairs. PJ sighs heavily, the type of sigh that he knows will push Dan’s buttons, and it does. God, it’s like PJ thinks he’s a fucking _child_.

“It’s obviously gotten to the point,” PJ says, “where you can’t even go _outside_ at night without getting accosted by something. As you proved last night. We need them gone. That’s what the point is.”

Of course, Dan hasn’t mentioned the fact that Phil was waiting after he left the bar. He’s spun a convincing (if a little too detailed) story about catching a cab and getting home and just… going straight to sleep, being tired as hell. He has a feeling that PJ would kill him if he knew how stupid he’d been, if he knew that he’d wound up something that could tear out his throat if it wanted. So PJ only knows about what happened in the bar, and it’s going to stay that way. “Well,” Dan responds, “‘Accosted’ isn’t the word I’d use-”

“For god’s sake, Dan, stop messing about,” PJ snaps. “How are you not more creeped out by this? You could have gotten fucking _murdered_ last night.”

“I’m more pissed off about the fact that I didn’t get laid, but, y’know.” Dan grumbles, knowing that he’s testing PJ’s patience.

PJ turns to him as though he's about to say something, but the look on Dan's face says it all - he's completely indifferent. God, he's an annoying prick at times, but PJ knows he's not exactly an angel either. And aside from that, no matter how petulant Dan is, he and PJ have been friends for so long; PJ would say that Dan is really one of the only people he can trust with anything, especially something like this. Maybe that's why he's pulled Dan here. Maybe that's why he didn't just let him get killed last night.

But that doesn't change the frustration he feels as he faces away again, huffing out a "Fucking dickhead," as he turns back to open the door at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn't even stop to look at the triumphant expression that he knows must be on Dan's face.

Dan isn’t sure how many stairs he tackles as he follows PJ down; all he knows is that by the time he gets to the bottom, he feels like he’s going to throw his lungs up onto the hard floor in front of him, and this was only the journey down, let alone back up again.

Bending over and placing his palms firmly on his jeans (which are stained from spilling something on them, but really, what does PJ expect from him when he drags Dan out of bed before midday?), he tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t get a chance to look up until he hears movement from across the room, which instantly makes him snap his gaze to face the source of the sound.

She’s unmistakable, of course, though he’s not entirely sure when she changed the colour of her hair again. Honestly, it’s hard for him to keep up considering how often she changes it, but the bright turquoise is certainly not something he expected from her.

“ _Emma_?” He asks incredulously, squinting his eyes as if that might make the sight in front of him change. “You’re in on it too? Fuck, are there any of my friends that aren’t involved in some kind of supernatural-hunting cult?”

“Well,” PJ begins, rubbing the back of his neck with a quiet, somewhat shaking laugh. He can see Dan’s face getting redder, so he quickly turns his attention away from the brunette and faces Emma instead.

She’s practically glaring at him, an eyebrow raised. A smile creeps onto PJ’s lips as he stands up straight, tilting his head as he waits for her to say what he expects.

“I owe you fifty, don’t I?” Emma says, not without a hint of bitterness in her voice. With a toothy smile, PJ nods, running fingers through his hair.

“Yup. Cough up.”

“I swear to God, PJ Liguori, if you tell _anyone_ else about this, then you’ll be the one coughing up. Blood.” She practically snarls, and both the men’s blood runs cold at the tone of voice. Frankly, neither of them are entirely sure whether she’s joking or not, and they exchange a passing glance as she stuffs fifty quid into PJ’s hand. And it takes a moment for Dan to understand, but just the look of bitter _defeat_ on Emma’s face gives it away.

“Did you fucking make _bets_ -”

“Not important,” Emma interrupts curtly, turning away from the pair and walking back to where she was sat before. It’s pretty impressive, actually, how quickly she switches from hurt pride to all business. She says back over her shoulder, “PJ. Find anything out about numbers?”

“No,” PJ responds. Dan blinks; it’s as if PJ actually understands what she’s talking about. But then again, he probably does. He’s probably been at this for a while, for a long time, and Dan decides to stop thinking about that because the longer the stretch of time, the longer PJ went without telling him anything, _really_ telling him anything. “I’m making a guess that there are about ten around in the local vicinity, maybe twenty, but-”

“ _God_ ,” the girl mutters under her breath, “you really don’t deserve the money I just gave you.” She gives him a disapproving glance, because a guess is not enough. A guess could be dangerous, actually. Too few, you’re overwhelmed. Too many, you’re weighed down by weapons and you’re limited. Easier to kill.

“Sorry, been a bit busy keeping this idiot from getting eaten.” PJ mutters, more to himself than Emma since he knows that it won’t particularly please her, and nods towards Dan.

Said boy draws in a breath to make a snarky remark about so-called idiocy, but he pauses. What for? What would be the point in saying anything, when there’s more important things to be worrying about? PJ was right in what he said on the way down here; he could have been _killed_ last night, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to say the things he did about it. Maybe there is a time to keep quiet. Maybe it’s just a lack of words to say. Either way, he closes his mouth and just decides to ignore it.

Emma internally decides to keep the peace and avoid snapping back at PJ - after all, this is Dan’s first time here, and she can’t even imagine how bloody confused he’s going to be in a few minutes - so she simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

She turns swiftly on her heel and starts to walk away from her friends, heading straight for the door that she’s passed through so many times. Silently, she wonders whether or not bringing Dan down here is actually a good idea, considering the fact that she knows all too well how easy it is to get sucked into this life. This _incredibly_ dangerous life. This life that has cost them friends before, and probably will again. And although Dan is selfish and proud and immature, he’s also zealous and loyal, maybe a little _too much_ so.

But surely PJ wouldn’t have brought him if he didn’t think it was worth something. That leads her mind onto different things, just for a moment. What could have driven PJ, after keeping things quiet for so long, to let Dan in on this? Did Dan see anything strange? Did he have a close call? She doesn’t know, and she understands that curiosity is a luxury she can’t really afford, but it’d be interesting to know how things went. How he took it. How he _found out_ , before that.

Maybe it’s a good idea to let him in on this, actually. Now that he knows. She doesn’t want to lose him.

Still, she hesitates when her fingers find the cold metal of the door knob. Despite all of that, this isn’t something that you come back from, and she has her reservations about getting yet another one of her friends into this life.

“Right, Dan. I’m going to make this absolutely clear to you,” PJ begins, reaching over and putting his hand over Emma’s to stop her from turning the doorknob, “you _cannot_ tell _anyone_ about what is in this room. Your tendency to attempt to pick up leeches in bars is obviously pretty bad, so that includes the random people you meet. I don’t care how much you’ve had to drink, I don’t care whether you’re sure they’re human or not, you do not tell them.”

“Alright, alright,” Dan replies with a mock salute, adding at the end, “whatever you say, Captain Liguori.”

PJ opens his mouth, and Dan is sure that it’s going to be some comment about how PJ should have just left Dan with Phil and let Dan deal with the consequences, but the green-eyed man seems to bite his tongue and leave the remark unspoken. Instead, he takes his hand away from Emma’s, signaling for her to open the door.

If you’d asked him what he was expecting before the door was opened, then Dan probably couldn’t have given you a definitive answer. He’d probably have said bodies hanging from the ceiling, perhaps. Blades in cabinets all over the walls. Heads on spikes. Blood splattered everywhere. Certainly, what he finds himself looking at is not what he’d expected in a thousand years.

And sure, he can’t say that it’s not at least a little bit badass. But it’s disappointing, to say the least. The room is obviously fairly dark, lit dimly by camping lanterns dotted around the space at points where visibility is needed, such as by maps on the walls and polaroids on tables. He can see crosses decorating spaces, and a rosary hanging from the unused light fitting. Of course, there _has_ to be weapons somewhere, but the room looks fairly plain and unassuming. And it’s a let down - he was expecting something way cooler than this.

“Bit disappointing guys, I have to say,” he drawls, stepping into the room properly. Emma frowns.

“What?”

“I mean, this is cool,” he gestures around the room with his arms. “The maps and stalker pictures give it just the right ‘don’t fuck around’ touch. But like… it needs more blood and shit. Maybe a bit on the walls. Really, guys, is ketchup too expensive?”

“ _Excuse me_?” Emma asks incredulously, staring at Dan with her mouth slightly open.

“Paper mache corpses, maybe. I could help you with that.”

“It’s _functional_ ,” PJ says, because it is. If they wanted to make themselves fucking _obvious_ , they’d put a sign up outside. Of course, the crosses are only there for repulsion purposes - if they didn’t have a purpose, even they wouldn’t be on display. “I never said it’d be _decorative_ , you absolute wanker.”

Dan holds his hands up in what almost looks like surrender. It would, if it wasn’t for the grin still pricking up his lips. “I’m just saying,” he responds, underscored with what sounds a little bit like a laugh, “it needs more dead bodies.”

“Yeah, we can arrange that,” Emma mutters under her breath, just loud enough to be heard. Dan decides not to pay attention, but something about that turns that light chuckle into a nervous one.

PJ doesn’t acknowledge it at all. He just glances toward the corner of the room, as though expecting something (someone?) to be there, and looks momentarily surprised when it (he? she?) is not. “Emma,” he says. “Have you seen Chris?”

“Oh, _god_ ,” she mutters. “You take your eye off him for two seconds, I swear. He’s probably jacking off to Twilight or something by now.”

If Dan had been drinking, then he probably would have choked on whatever it was the second that comment registered in his head. Instead, he just chokes on the thin air, trying to keep himself from snorting as he watches PJ’s rather serious roll of the eyes.

“ _Again_? Letting him bring his movie collection down here was such a bad idea.” PJ grumbles, and Emma nods with a groan.

“Dear God, if I have to watch Kick Ass 2 with him one more time, I’m actually going to stake him.”

Dan narrows his eyes in confusion when PJ looks down at the ground at Emma’s comment. Emma’s face softens a little when she notices PJ’s glance turning downwards, a small frown on her face as if she’s realised the weight of the words that she’s just spoken - whatever weight that is, anyway. And Dan doesn’t know what he’s witnessing, but whatever it is, it makes the air too heavy to breathe for a moment.

“Are you guys… okay?” He asks, awkwardly edging to the side a little to get out of their space. “Do you need a moment or something?”

Emma shoots a quick glare at Dan, curling her fists a little in annoyance. She loves Dan to pieces, she honestly does, but he is an annoying little shit, and the worst part is that he knows it, so there’s nothing that she could say or do to stop him acting the way he does. Not that she’d necessarily change him completely - after all, a little comic relief is always welcome when you spend your life either wading through surveillance photos or freezing half to death obtaining those surveillance photos, always in the hope of ending up with enough information to make a move, but very rarely actually achieving that goal - but she’d very much like to grant him the ability to know when to shut the fuck up.

She passes PJ a final apologetic glance, hoping that he accepts it. But PJ's already recovered, so it seems - either that, or he's just really good at hiding as he gives Emma the ghost of a smile and a nod.

Dan has never been very good at figuring out what to do with his hands in awkward situations, and this is no exception. He watches with his bottom lip between his teeth as PJ slips away, probably in search of Chris, Dan reasons, and Emma sits down at a table and starts flicking through documents. Clearing his throat, he reaches into his back pocket for his phone, but frowns when he realises that there’s no signal here. Typical, he thinks, and slides the phone back into his jeans (not without a roll of his eyes which is for no one’s real benefit as the only other person in the room doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention).

“So, Em,” he begins, “how many of you are there exactly?”

“Not that many. Honestly, there aren’t many people like us left in the world. Enough to keep the streets relatively safe, although that’s been going a bit out of the window recently. That’s why we’re planning…” She trails off, and Dan narrows his eyes, natural intrigue whispering in the back of his mind for him to press her.

“Planning what, Emma? Scaring the vampires to death with your horrific sense of interior design? Your lack of ambitious design is more frightening than anything else in this city.”

Dan swears that, just for a moment, he sees a flicker of amusement on her face as she mutters, “Dan, that might just be the most heterosexual thing you’ve ever said to me.”

The sarcasm dripping from her voice makes Dan’s cheeks flush red and he opens his mouth to protest, but she’s way ahead of him, suppressing her previous smile and looking up at him with a sharp intake of breath to say quietly: “If Peej wants you to know, then he’ll tell you himself.”

He’s about to try and figure out another witty retort (he’s sure that he can find a thousand jokes to make on the choice of interior design in this place), but the words are snatched from his throat when the door behind him cracks open, sending his heart leaping to his mouth.

“Can you imagine if they just, sorta, like, said we’re gonna do your face, but then they also did all his body-” the voice is familiar, and Dan’s jaw stays in the same half-open position from when he’d been getting ready to speak when he sees the two figures walking through the doorway.

The shorter of the two of them stops talking the second that his eyes fall on Dan. Glancing from Dan, to Emma, to the taller man beside him, he lets out a quiet ‘er’ sound before waiting for someone else to talk.

“Dean?” It’s Dan who breaks the silence (which doesn’t surprise a single person in the room). He sounds a little exasperated, and hell, he _is_. God knows how many of his friends are in on this, how many of them probably thought it was hilarious to keep him out of the loop and make stupid bets on how long it would take for Dan to figure it out.

“Uh, well, this is awkward.” Jack, the taller of the two newcomers, says with a slight raise of the eyebrow. He turns his gaze from Dan without giving the brunette a chance to reply, and addresses Emma instead, “The others are waiting. Do you want me to forewarn them about…”

“Why? We all knew he would end up here eventually.” The girl forces her lips into a funnel and blows air up her face, ruffling her cyan fringe. "Look, just tell them to come down and then we can get on. Please."

Dan's starting to feel ever so slightly weird as he regards the pair. It's like the feeling you get when you see your teacher at the supermarket, a reminder that people have lives away from you. People have lives _like this_ away from you. Either that, or it's the way Dean's looking at him. It's an intent gaze, the shorter man chewing on his lip as he stares with a frown settled on his lips. It's almost _invasive_ , and it takes Dan a lot not to shuffle under Dean's eyes.

Dan isn’t sure how it actually happens. All he knows is that one moment he’s stood there with Dean’s unsettling stare on him, and the next he’s _dripping wet_.

“Dean!” Jack chastises. Dan just stands there in shock, staring down at his clothes with an open mouth. He can’t believe that the little fucker just-

 _Holy water_? The small bottle in Dean’s hand is identical to the one that PJ pulled out to use against Phil. In the back of his mind, Dan remembers what Phil told him about how it doesn’t do anything, and he’s about to scream it at Dean, but then he remembers that he _can’t_ know that. He knows full well that if he lets slip that he saw Phil again, PJ will kill Dan himself.

“Fuck, Dan, I’m sorry oh God. He did this with everyone, he’s like some kind of fucking puppy, I’m so-” Jack begins to ramble, snatching the bottle out of Dean’s hand.

Dan reaches his own fingers up to his hair, frowning when he realises that it’s just as wet as the rest of him, which is just fucking fantastic. Not only does he look like he took a bath in his clothes, his hair is going to start curling any second, and he can’t stand it when it’s like that.

“I had to check he wasn’t a vampire, Jack.” Dean says with a shrug as if it’s the most simple thing in the world.

Dan shuts his eyes, not even daring to speak for a moment because his clothes are wet and his hair is wet and he is wet, and not in a good way. He could have done without it, frankly - it’s all wrong and weird enough, and now he’s _dripping_ with something that wouldn’t even kill him if he _was_ a vampire. And he’s tempted to say that, just for a moment, until he remembers that no one is supposed to know he talked to Phil beyond the bar.

“ _Well_ ,” he huffs, the exasperation (read: bitchiness) in his voice making Jack wince ever so slightly. God, he wishes he could keep Dean under control. “At least we know I’m not a fucking _vampire_ , then. No harm done.”

Oh, there’s harm done. He’s soaking.

After that, Jack awkwardly slips away for a moment, leaving Dan standing uncomfortably as he waits for someone to tell him what to do. His eyes watch as Dean moves over to stand by Emma’s side, the pair of them talking in whispers about something that Dan doubts he actually wants to know about.

He barely notices PJ coming back into the room. The small movement out of the corner of his eye would usually have gone unnoticed by him, but he supposes that finding out all of your friends are in reality actually lethal hunters has kicked his senses into overdrive. He turns to face his approaching friend, and isn’t surprised to see Chris trailing after him, his cheeks slightly flushed and his hair sticking up in odd directions.

“Others here yet?” PJ asks gruffly, but Dan isn’t really paying him much attention.

Instead, his eyes are focussed on Chris. Now that he knows about this whole vampire thing, he can’t quite get it out of his mind when his eyes fall on his old friend, who’s approaching him with a rather toothy grin. He wonders how on earth he didn’t see it before, but then again, who could really blame him? Who in their right mind actually believes that vampires are real? After all, even after what PJ told him, even after what Phil himself said, tucked away in the back of Dan’s own thoughts there still rests a fraction of doubt, a niggling feeling that perhaps this is all a dream or some kind of drug-induced delusion.

“Dan!” Chris chirps, throwing his arms around Dan’s slightly stiff (and damp, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind) form. Now Dan thinks about it, Chris is unnaturally cold, and he shudders when Chris’s hands press against the back of his shirt. “It’s been a while.”

Dan isn’t finished formulating some kind of carefully measured response when the door opens again, revealing behind it even more of his friends.

There aren't many left, that being said. There are two, to be exact - the sweet, pale girl with a lip piercing and dyed dark hair, and the taller blond man, the nose ring that Dan has seen glinting in his skin occasionally pointing him out as exactly who Dan thinks he is. Cherry and Patty don't exactly make a grand entrance, but it's grand enough; they're damn _hunters_. Everything's different now, even though nothing's really changed except for Dan's blindness to reality.

They all seem to know exactly what they’re doing, which is more than just slightly unnerving. Dan stands and watches as these people - his _friends_ , who has known for years and yet has never been observational enough to notice what they were doing behind his back - gather around one of the tables, taking up chairs as if they have done it a thousand times before. The only exception is Chris, who instead of sitting on the final spare seat (next to PJ, oddly enough) just leans on the table next to them instead.

He feels more than slightly out of place as he watches, their words flying over his head. Even if he were listening properly (and listening has never been one of his strong points, demonstrated by the catastrophic school record he managed to build up), he doesn’t understand the few words he does catch, let alone the whole conversation. They talk, seemingly for hours, about targets of some sort and how they have a severe lack of information, much in the same manner that clusters of school girls talk about their latest conquests in the boyfriend field, or the way elderly women sit around chattering as if they were very much bearing in mind the fact that there might not be a tomorrow for them.

All Dan really manages to pick up is that a lot of the problems are PJ’s fault, and Emma almost seems to have it out for him. She might as well have his balls on a string, the way they seem to be conversing. It intrigues him, but even he’s not stupid enough to ask right now when she has that look on her face and a rather pointy looking stake sat on the table in front of her.

“Dan?” The voice drags him back to reality. He startles, eyes darting to the source of the sound.

It’s Cherry. She’s sat there with an irate look on her face, glaring at Dan as if he’d been ignoring her. Which, he realises when he notices that everyone else’s eyes are on him too, he probably was.

“Hm?” The noise comes from his throat without him really thinking about it, and it’s received with a roll of the eyes.

“So, Dan,” she begins, leaning back in her chair, “what colour do you think we should paint the walls?”

“Wait, what?” He asks, slightly bewildered. He’s not entirely sure how these meetings are meant to work, but for all his joking earlier, he’s fairly convinced that they’re not meant to consist of discussing the decorating.

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you have any weapons or fighting training or anything, but Em suggested that it’d be easier to get your attention if we asked you for your opinions on the decor.”

A scowl settles onto his face as he looks at her, completely unimpressed when Emma stifles a laugh. He’s not _at all_ in the mood for that; he’s just recovering from all this, from the revelation that, oh god, Stephanie Meyer was right. He doesn’t want to admit it - he’d say Bram Stoker or someone cool like that - but something about this feels distinctly teen romance-ish. Except, y’know, without the romance and with more sexual frustration (or just general frustration about the fact that he isn’t getting any). Anyway, the point is that he doesn’t need snark.

“No.” He says firmly after a moment or two of silence. Folding his arms, he elaborates when he notices the few looks of confusion in the room, “I haven’t had any weapons training. Nothing. You guys know me, right? I can barely walk up my own stairs, let alone survive a fist fight.”

Emma draws breath to reply, a frown mirroring Dan’s settled on her lips. But before she can, Patty quickly jumps in. Perhaps it’s because he knows that she hasn’t got the patience Dan needs, but either way, she’s grateful for his intervention. “In which case,” he says easily, leaning over and grabbing the stake Emma has positioned on the table in front of her and pushing it towards the other boy, “let’s keep it basic.”

Dan stares at the object, confused. “What are you-”

“PJ isn’t always going to be there to jump in, Dan,” Emma says, not harsh anymore. She gives PJ a sideways glance, to see that he’s staring resolutely at the tabletop in front of him. She feels bad for him, he really does. First Chris, and now almost Dan too. She can’t afford to be harsh anymore, really, even though she knows it’ll be hard; they need to get Dan educated. “You need to learn to use this. It’s only simple, okay? Just for protection.”

Dan can’t stop himself. “Protection? Guys, I thought you wanted me to _kill_ vampires. Not have sex with them.”

“ _God_ , Dan,” Patty mutters, lifting a hand to his forehead, although he’s stifling laughter. More than what can be said of Emma, whose resolve to be easier on Dan is slowly crumbling to dust. Patty can tell by the way she squeezes her eyes closed and presses her mouth into a thin line, probably willing herself not to snap. And that makes it harder out to laugh, so he just switches his gaze back to Dan’s. “We’re being serious. It’s _dangerous_ out there, man.” He gestures to the stake. “You need to aim right when you use that; remember, you want to pierce the heart.”

Suddenly, it’s not so much of a joking matter. The smile slowly fades from Dan’s face. “So you _do_ actually expect me to kill them.” He says. It’s a statement and not a question. He _wishes_ it was a question. He _wishes_ he didn’t already know the answer.

“Don’t look so horrified,” Emma cuts in before Patty can give the apologetic answer on the tip of his tongue, her voice carrying a sharp edge. “It’s… It’s easier if you don’t think of them as people. Because they’re not.” She looks quickly over at Chris, for confirmation that what she’s saying is okay; that he isn’t offended. He gives her a nod and a thumbs up, an ever so slightly hollow grin on his face. That’s all she needs. “What made them people is gone, Dan. Remember that, alright?”

 _Fuck_ , Dan thinks, running a hand through his still damp and already curling hair. He’s going to be like these guys, helping things and saving people like everyone in this room does. But, and this is what makes his stomach churn and a _no_ rise in his head, he’ll be a murderer. He’ll have blood on his hands that he knows he’ll never be able to wash off. He doesn’t care if they aren’t people; they’re a body, they’re a mind. And that’s enough for him. He can’t kill. He’s not a killer. He’s not like them.

But they can’t know that. So, expectant eyes trained on him, he nods. He’s trying to think fast, trying to think of _anything_ to get himself out of this room. And what he comes up with is lame, nowhere near convincing in his head, but it’s something. “Yeah,” he sighs out, standing up. “Sorry, I just… it’s a lot to take in. I’m going to go get some fresh air, okay?”

After a moment, after all eyes have flitted to Emma and PJ, they both nod. “Sure,” PJ says. “We’ll be here still. Don’t be long.”

Dan almost sighs in relief. “I won’t,” he replies. “Sorry, maybe it’s just the idea of getting shit on my clothes, I don’t know. I just need to… I’ll be fine, promise. Back in five.” That earns him a small grin and a chuckle from PJ, and it sounds nice in his ears. He hasn’t heard PJ properly laugh for months. But he has to _go_ , so he doesn’t linger around long enough to appreciate it. He instead gives a little nod to everyone and walks through the door, up the stairs, back the way he came.

“Dan,” he hears the hesitant voice and freezes, taking a sharp intake of breath.

“Chris?” He asks tentatively as he looks back around, trying to force his lips into some kind of smile.

“Listen to me, if this is too much, then you don’t have to stay here. You can go if you want, I won’t say anything. They probably won’t even notice, at least not tonight.”

It’s rare that Chris actually says something that makes some logical sense; mostly everything that comes out of his mouth is a bad dick joke or a messily constructed pun. It’s rare that Chris even _attempts_ to be serious, so his words make Dan’s chest stir a little.

“Thanks man. Thanks a lot.” The brunette says with a slight nod, turning back to keep walking up the stairs.

He doesn’t look back.

-

All he wants to do is take a god damn shower.

Someone, however, maybe God, seems to find it funny that he looks like a drenched rat, because he he ends up spending hours wandering around his own damn city, trying to find his apartment block in the mess of hastily built council flats and more luxurious homes. He swears that it was only a short distance between the creepy vampire hideout and his place, and maybe the fact that he took a different route to avoid being followed by his friends adds to it, but by the time he’s on his street it’s already dark, and he feels like he’s going to explode with anger at himself.

After a while, he manages to shake away the suspicion that someone is following him. He wouldn’t put it past any of his friends to have noticed that he was gone and come out to find him. It probably would have been PJ if they had.

Not even PJ ‘I-have-to-follow-you-around-everywhere-to-protect-you-from-vampires’ Liguori came to find him. He’s not sure what that says about them, or about Dan himself.

By the time he finally does make it to his street, he’s about at the point of wanting to launch the whole planet into the sun. At least he'd be dry that way. And true, he's not _dripping_ anymore, but his hair is in curls and his clothes feel uncomfortably damp and, _god_ , he's so stressed out because if this jumper is ruined he _swears_ he will-

He stops dead in his tracks at the top of his front path, and it takes everything has not to roll his eyes at the sight that has awaited him here. Of course, of fucking _course_. "Oh, shit," he grumbles, approaching the figure sat on his doorstep. "You again."

"Rude," Phil says with a grin. "I took the time out to come and see you especially. Least you could do is be civil."

Civil? Dan doesn't want to be civil. It's not as if Phil deserves it, with the events of the night prior. In fact, if Dan had any sense at all, he would've just ignored the fucker. But it's kind of hard to do that, because he's perched right where Dan needs to walk, and to get inside he'd have to climb right over him.

So instead of doing that, he sighs. "What are you even _doing_ here?" He asks the man, folding his arms to both look angry and hold his resolve together.

"Oh, I was thinking I could, like, use your bathroom or feed off your pets or something."

"Funny," Dan deadpans, face saying that it wasn't at all because it wasn't. Even if Dan was allowed to keep pets in his apartment building, he wouldn't be stupid enough to leave them inside alone after the events of last night. Or maybe he would, but that's beside the point. The point is he wants Phil gone, and the only way to achieve that is to have this conversation, quickly. "Sorry, not allowed pets in my apartment building. So I'm afraid it'll be my throat you'll be ripping out."

The air is stiff and silent for just a moment as Phil regards Dan coolly, eyes ice for just a moment, the type of ice that sends an involuntary shiver down the boy's spine. It's not even an _angry_ kind of ice - Dan could deal with anger. It's intent, almost _hurt_. And he doesn't want to feel guilty about saying something that's probably true. But he can't help but do so; it seems a bit harsh, now that he thinks about it. So he sighs, and shrugs microscopically. "I'm joking," he says, too proud to force out an apology. "Probably. I think."

A small smile twitches at Phil's lips. "About what?"

"Uh. The ripping-my-throat-out thing."

"What, the difference between me killing you and just..." Phil's voice trails off for a moment, and Dan doesn't quite what to do with himself in the following second of silence. Or, indeed, the fucking vampire on his doorstep. God, he's not supposed to be here. "... just nibbling a bit?"

Dan rolls his shoulders. "I was thinking more the difference between you killing me and, like, _not_ ," he says, and Phil laughs. "But I have to say, 'nibbling' was a nice way of phrasing 'sucking your blood', so well done."

There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward or stiff. Dan shuffles around on his feet purely for something to do, looking down at the ground, but his head snaps up to face Phil when he hears the vampire talk, “I came to apologise.”

“What?”

“That’s what I’m doing here. To apologise. For being a cock.” Dan narrows his eyes for a moment, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Truthfully, he probably said worse to Phil than Phil did to Dan, but at the same time, it’s not a secret anymore that Phil’s only motive for chatting Dan up was to end the evening with Dan dead somewhere. On his own bed, probably, but possibly just on the street, Dan’s not really sure how vampires like to go about disposing of their prey.

Instead of saying any of that, Dan simply shrugs for what feels like the thousandth time since he arrived back here. He moves forward and sits on the doorstep next to Phil, glancing at the pale man with a smile. "Wasn't expecting that, to be honest," he remarks.

"What?"

"The apology." Dan looks at his lap, ever so slightly ashamed of his preconceptions. God, maybe PJ and his crew are already getting to him. "I thought you were just here to finish the job."

He’s expecting another awkward silence, if he’s honest with himself - it seems like a bit of a bad thing to say, in that precise moment - but Phil doesn’t seem to be bothered too much. Aside from an unreadable expression crossing his face, which Dan notices out of the corner of his eye, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I don’t, uh, I don’t think that would have been very good manners.”

A smile pricks up Dan’s lips as he remembers the comment he made the night prior. “You’re learning,” he says, with a slight chuckle.

“I’ll have you know that I have very good manners.” Phil says with a pout, crossing his arms across his chest. Dan finds himself grinning idiotically at the sight of his supposedly scary, all-powerful vampire, who could be a thousand years old for all he knows, sitting on his doorstep with the expression of a kicked puppy.

“Yeah? Well. Don’t only fuck me so that you can kill me, or whatever. Just a pointer. Murder tends not to be most people’s idea of the ideal first date.” Phil laughs quietly, the uncertainty apparent to even Dan, who quickly adds, “I was joking that time, don’t worry.”

“I also came to ask,” Phil starts after a moment or two, and Dan looks across at him with small, intrigued smile, “Is that offer for coffee still open? I mean, well, it turns out that I don’t feel an overwhelming urge to kill you after all.”

“But I thought that you couldn’t go out during-”

“I can’t. I just want an excuse to see you again, to be honest.” Turning away from Dan, Phil feels a small blush spreading over his cheeks as the words leave his lips. He feels Dan’s warm gaze still lingering on him even when he looks away.

“Who says you need an excuse? Like, dude, just come over or something. I don’t go out getting drunk every night, y’know.”

“Only when you need to get laid?”

“Only when I need to get laid.” Dan repeats affirmatively, grinning at Phil.

Phil snickers, just a little, the sound quiet and quick - more of a fast breath out more than anything else, but still a laugh. It's an odd sound, considering that he doesn't really need to breathe at all - or does he? Dan can't quite tell. And after the admittedly little that he's spoken about to the vampire, he doesn't really know if it's the best thing to ask outright. And then he finds himself wondering what Phil's real laugh sounds like, not just a breath out. Why on earth he's considering it, he doesn't know - he can already hear Emma's voice mocking him. Yes, how fucking heterosexual of him, indeed.

Then again, he's thinking about a man who he wanted in his pants less than 24 hours ago. Heterosexuality is very much out of the window.

“So, Phil. Is that all you came here for? To apologise and then ask whether an invitation for coffee, that you technically can’t accept, is still open?”

“Nah, I thought I’d do that so that you trusted me and then I could kill you here. My plan has been foiled again.” Phil says, and for a split second Dan doesn’t register the mocking tone of his voice and almost gets ready to bolt. But he relaxes, and rolls his eyes, although a grin pricks up the corners of his mouth at the change in the other mans demeanour. He's almost worried that he said something wrong; Dan can't help but laugh a little.

"Again, funny," he says. "God, are you writing these down somewhere? You could use them again sometime."

“Come on, Dan, don’t be sarcastic. I only came here to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now.” Phil says, putting his hands up in mock defence. Dan almost splutters on the breath that he’s taking in (he makes a mental note to really improve on his habit of choking on thin air), his loud, almost obnoxious laugh ringing out through the empty street.

They must look so odd like this, he knows. A guy wearing a slightly ragged leather jacket, his hair pushed out of his face in an almost comical quiff, exposing much more forehead than Dan could see last night when it was brushed down neatly into a well-cut side fringe that practically mirrors his own, and Dan himself, his hair curled and his shirt dirty.

As he turns back around to face Phil, he yawns widely, a surprised sound accompanying it. He hadn’t quite realised how tired he is, and even though he knows that he probably won’t actually be able to sleep the second his head hits the damn pillow, he is also in desperate need of a shower.

“Anyway. Right, it’s getting late, and I need to get in, y’know? God knows that I’m probably not actually going to bed for hours, but damn do I need a shower.” He says, standing up and stretching his arms behind his head.

Grinning, he looks back down at Phil, who’s looking up at him with a soft smile. Dan raises an eyebrow, and it seems to snap Phil out of it, bringing the pale man back to his senses.

“Right. I’ll see you again sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dan affirms, nodding his head, and turns to reach for the handle on the door. Just as his fingers uncurl, however, he has a second thought and glances around, calling out just as Phil starts to walk away: “Sometime soon, right?”

The corners of Phil’s lips prick up in place of a reply, and he tips his head towards Dan in agreement before turning back around and continuing to walk off.

And Dan's alone again. And he's not sure if the quiet is pleasant, if the subtraction on his odds of being murdered makes him happier, or if maybe the silence that follows the vampire is just a little too deafening for his taste. So he breathes out, the sound fast and jagged, before he gathers himself enough to turn around and grab the door handle again.

He yanks open the door, after having to jostle with it for just a few moments, and slams it behind him once he gets inside, finally letting latent nerves overwhelm him as he rests his forehead against the door and wills his legs to stop shaking.

-

The next time they see each other, it’s dark.

Of course. But Dan is already at home this time, clicking around on his laptop and occasionally looking up at the wall opposite him to give his eyes a break from the light glowing from his screen, thinking about nothing in particular as he taps out tweets and reblogs pictures like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe it’s because there’s been too much to think about recently, maybe it’s because there’s not been enough; either way, it’s a nice break from consciousness, almost. Not in a bad way, but sometimes it’s nice to do nothing but breathe.

Or it could just be the fact that he knows he’s probably not going to die anytime soon, now that he’s avoided being vampire bait.

Just as he’s watching the clock in the corner of the screen hit 11:30pm, the buzzer sounds unnecessarily loudly, startling him and pulling a surprised yelp from between his lips because, _come on_ , he wasn’t expecting that. He’s about two hundred percent sure he’s about to get murdered, until he realises that it’s just someone trying to come in. Maybe someone’s forgotten their key or something. That’s the only way he can rationalise someone trying to buzz in at this hour (even though he knows that everyone in this apartment building probably thinks that he’s dead by now considering the fact that they never see him, and therefore would know better than to ask the weirdo kid with the emo fringe for help to get in).

He rubs his eyes and stretches, before getting up to answer the door (maybe, if someone is in fact trying to see him). He holds down the button on the intercom machine. “Hello?” he enquires, his voice holding the ever so slight strain of tiredness.

“Dan?” someone responds, a voice that Dan vaguely recognises but can’t quite place. He stops still, trying to focus on pinning the sound of the word to a face, replying with: “Yeah?”

There’s a noise that he thinks is a sigh, which must either be relieved or something else that he can’t quite put his finger on. “Hi,” the person says, with what sounds like an awkward laugh. “It’s Phil.”

It takes Dan a second longer than it really should do to register the name, but when he does he blurts out without thinking, “As in, the vampire Phil?”

“Well. That’s certainly one way of introducing myself that I’ll have to try some time. But yes, if you will, Dan, I am the vampire Phil.” There’s a small chuckle accompanying the words, and Dan can feel the tips of his ears burning red as he realises the carelessness of his question. To be fair, it is nearly midnight, and he doesn’t handle interactions with other people particularly well past around five unless he’s specifically prepared for it, but sometimes he does wish that he was more careful with his tongue.

“Right. Uhm, do you wanna come in, or?”

There’s a moment of nothing but the static of the line, and Dan bites his lip, wondering if he actually did offend Phil with his careless words. He’s about to open his mouth to try and apologise when he’s interrupted by Phil finally replying, “Yeah, sure, why not? As long as you’re cool with that?”

Dan rolls his eyes despite the fact that Phil can’t see him, and quickly responds with a laugh. “Of course you can, hang on and I’ll let you in.”

Pressing the button to let Phil in, Dan stumbles away from the door for a moment and finds the nearest mirror. He doesn’t have time to do much other than ruffle up his hair and then put it back into place, trying to make it look at least somewhat presentable, before he has to go back to the door, opening it ready for Phil. Then again, it’s late; most people will have gone to bed. Phil’s just lucky that Dan happens to be awake (although it’s no different from usual), regardless of whether or not he looks good.

It shouldn’t matter, anyway. It’s a horrible thought, one that Dan shoves away immediately, but it won’t matter what he looks like if Phil does end up killing him. But, as Dan reassures himself quickly, he probably won’t.

That thought gets pushed to the back of his head, anyway, when he catches sight of Phil walking up the corridor to his door, with a relaxed smile on his face. “Thank fuck,” he says. “Thought I got the wrong place for a minute. You have no idea how scary that was.”

Dan can’t help but laugh, despite himself. “Oh yes, _terrifying_ ,” he says jovially. “I mean, you’ve obviously got Buffy to watch out for while you’re stood there, so.”

“Ha, you’re very funny. Although, honestly, if I’m going to get staked by a vampire slayer, I wouldn’t mind it be Sarah Michelle Gellar.”

“The closest you’ll ever get to Sarah Michelle Gellar staking you is Peej in a wig, sorry.”

Phil laughs, the sound bright for someone who can’t go out in daylight. “Is that so?” he responds, trying to push the image in his head to one side because, _god_ , that makes it hard to focus on the conversation they’re having without bursting into uncontrollable giggles. Dan smiles at the laughter he’s obviously trying to hold back, standing aside to let him in.

“Unfortunate, I know,” he says, and closes the door behind them.

-

Honestly, Dan doesn’t know why he thought that this would be a good idea, but he didn’t realise how much of a bad one it would be either.

In fact, ‘bad’ doesn’t quite cover it. Horrifying might be a better term. Traumatising, perhaps. All he knows is that he certainly didn’t expect to find a page describing the taste of the blood of various different types of animals - including humans - when all he wanted was to learn a little bit more about the mechanics of the guy that’s been showing up at _his_ house, eating _his_ food and playing _his_ video games. It wasn’t too much to ask, surely?

It’s not that he begrudges Phil a second of his time - in fact, it’s quite the opposite. He enjoys hanging out with Phil far more than he’s enjoyed spending time with anyone in a long while. It’s just that he knows so little about vampires, and he couldn’t help but be curious.

He just really hopes that half of the things he just read aren’t true.

He’s still staring at his goddamn phone screen by the time the buzzer rings again, by the time he’s pressed the button that opens the door. And by this point, Phil is slightly concerned because Dan sounded so off when he said to come up. It’s like he’s done something wrong or something, the amount of distracted disgust in Dan’s voice.

“Are you okay?” he calls to Dan when he sees him, down the corridor where the boy is holding the door open for him, looking ever so slightly paler than he usually does. And it might be a stupid question, because Dan most certainly does not look okay. Distraught is probably a better word. And, as expected, Dan shakes his head with a frown.

“I’m never fucking googling your type again, okay?” He says sulkily. “God, talk about scarred for life.”

And Phil can’t keep in a chuckle, earning him a scowl as the boy steps aside to let him past. “I’m sorry,” he snickers. “But, Dan, you needed to learn that the internet doesn’t have the answer to everything at _some_ point. Now’s as good a time as any.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, okay,” he concedes. “But... can you just answer something for me?”

“Ask away.”

“Does human blood really taste like fucking _pomegranate_?”

-

Watching _Twlight_ with a vampire is not exactly an experience that Dan would have expected to have, but nonetheless he can’t deny that he’s finding it most illuminating.

Dan’s probably been watching Phil more than the film itself (although, as he does have a bit of a soft point for trashy movies, he doesn’t exactly have to watch anymore to keep up with what’s going on), but you can’t blame him. Every five seconds Phil is either mumbling about inaccuracies (something about the media always portraying vampires incorrectly), or is making comments that aren’t all the way heterosexual about Robert Pattinson’s face, or is actually getting rather worked up about the plot developments.

“So I know I’m not one to talk,” he says, gesturing at the screen where Edward is standing dramatically in the sunlight, skin lit up as though dotted with diamonds, “but that is the gayest fucking thing I’ve ever seen on another vampire. Truth.” He sits back, shaking his head. “Man, he shouldn’t be sparkling anyway. He’s dead by now. Like, _really_ dead.”

“Ever the romantic, aren’t you, Phil?”

“I’m serious, Dan!” He groans. “This isn’t _romantic_ , anyway. They only fucking _stare_ at each other. In what world is that _romantic_? Creepy as fuck, if you ask me.”

 _Oh_. Dan drops his gaze a bit because, well, he’s been watching Phil’s reactions more than he has the two characters sharing silent, freaky glances in lieu of an “I love you”. Staring’s bad, god, of _course_ it is. But then again, Edward and Bella aren’t so much _staring_ at each other as they are _eyefucking_ , so maybe Dan isn’t as bad as that? Staring’s not nearly as creepy as whatever it is that these actors have been paid to do.

He raises his eyeline from his lap, only to catch Phil looking at him with an amused expression. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re allowed to look at me a bit. I mean, I’m good-looking as hell, so how could you not?”

Dan just stares at Phil, a little horrified, and a little more than absolutely done with the man in front of him, for a moment or two before Phil’s expression falters and his laughter starts to ring out through the room. Face a little flushed, Dan frowns, trying to stop his lips twitching up, as he watches Phil clutch his sides and let his tongue poke out from between his teeth.

“You’re such a cock.” Dan mumbles, ripping his gaze away from Phil and looking towards the TV instead, still fighting the smile away.

"It's a good thing you like that then, isn't it?"

“Oh, you just think you’re hilarious, don’t you Phil?” Dan asks, his attempt at a scornful tone marred by the amusement flickering in it. Phil nods enthusiastically, and Dan rolls his eyes, trying to pull his attention back to the movie.

-

“I really don’t get it.”

It’s the first thing that Phil says as he walks into the apartment, pushing past Dan without so much as a hello, which certainly isn’t like him. If there’s one thing that Dan has learned about Phil, it’s that, despite first appearances, Phil is actually incredibly polite in almost everything he does.

“Hello to you too, Phil.” He mumbles under his breath, shutting his front door with a slight shake of his head.

“Sorry, Dan, hi, I just- I just don’t understand where people get half these ideas from,” Phil continues to ramble, walking away from Dan and into the lounge.

It took countless visits from Phil for him to finally get the message that he doesn’t have to ask every time before sitting on Dan’s couch, but he certainly has no qualms now about throwing himself down onto it. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, and waits for Dan to follow him before saying anything else.

The second Dan shuffles in, Phil’s starting again, spewing words that Dan doesn’t catch at all. With a frustrated sigh, Dan reaches forward and grabs Phil’s face in his hands, holding him still for a moment.

“Phil. Shut up and breathe. What the hell are you going on about?” Dan asks, not without a slight smile. His hands fall from Phil’s cheeks, and end up at his sides instead, resting on his hips as he waits for an answer.

“Sorry. Okay. So, I was reading some stuff and like, just how did humans come up with half these legends? Like, vampires turning into bats? That’s honestly the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard!”

“Wait. Vampires can’t turn into bats?” Dan asks curiously, sitting down on the couch next to Phil. Their legs touch slightly, but Phil seems far too preoccupied with his outrage at what Dan just asked him to be particularly fussed.

“No! What do you fucking think we are? We’re not animals, we just don’t exactly have to breathe or anything.” Phil grumbles rather indignantly, and Dan can’t help but laugh at the man’s childish pout.

“Okay, but you can’t deny that being able to turn into a bat would be rather cool. If that’s the only thing we made up, then-”

“But it’s not! It’s like your hunter friend, PJ, and his holy water. I wasn’t kidding when I said that that would literally do fuck all. And then, garlic. The number of times hunters have tried to ward me off with garlic isn’t even funny.” Phil huffs, crossing his arms and glancing up at a rather amused-looking Dan. “I’m being serious, Dan! It’s insulting. I mean, come on, who the fuck even came up with the idea that vampires don’t have a reflection? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, to be fair Phil, it’s not like your type are inclined to have conversations with people about these kind of things. Vampires seem to be more of the eat first, kill later types. I don’t imagine much question asking goes down at all.”

"God," Phil says despairingly. "You're really fucking clueless."

"Thanks, I try," Dan responds, completely unimpressed.

Phil sighs, and Dan wonders if it really does bother him as much as it seems to. He seemed irritated by the holy water incident, even if he ended up leaving before it was actually used. Why would it irritate him if it meant he didn't actually die when shit got thrown at him? Maybe it was just the inventions of the imagination.

"Okay," Dan says. Phil lifts an eyebrow. "What is actually true? Like, do you actually sleep in coffins? Or did we make that up too?"

The vampire rolls his eyes like they're marbles. "Of course we don't fucking sleep in coffins. We're dead, but come on. That shit is expensive. Next."

"Erm. Crosses?" Dan asks, remembering the rosary hanging from the lightbulb in the hunters' little meeting place.

"Nope. Next."

And that's how they sit for a while, Dan firing various myths at Phil, and Phil more often than not disregarding them as nothing more than mere fiction. It actually surprises the boy how much people can actually make up, and okay, maybe having to deal with the same conventions over and over would get old. God, Dan dreads to think how many times Phil's had holy water or garlic thrown at him; he'd never be able to deal with that. He likes his wardrobe just a little too much for that.

By the time Dan runs out of ideas, it turns out that only three of the myths he's suggested are true; sunlight burns, silver repels and a wooden stake through the heart kills slowly and painfully. "I admit it," he says eventually. "That sounds like a lot of shit that people throw at you. I apologise on behalf of the entire human race."

Phil nods. "I get that people don't know and stuff," he mutters, "but really. Would it kill them to at least try to come up with something plausible?" Dan bites back the comment on his lips about how vampirism itself pushes the boundaries of plausibility.

A moment of silence hangs between the pair, before Phil exhales heavily. "Sorry about that," he says. "I just, I get mad about it sometimes. Thanks for listening to all of that."

Dan smiles. "It's okay, I get it. And you're welcome, just... one more question?"

"Go ahead."

"Would, like, would a cross made out of silver work?"

-

“Phil.” Dan says suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled over the two of them as they struggled with the board game in front of them. It had turned out that Phil is really quite something at board games, ranging from Dan’s _Game Of Thrones_ game to _Monopoly_ to chess. Then again, Dan doesn’t know how long Phil’s had to practise; he’s probably had - still has - all the time in the world, in comparison to the twenty or so years that Dan has had.

“Yeah?” Phil responds, not even looking up from the board.

“Are you guys really immortal?”

The silence between them returns, and Dan doesn’t know whether or not it’s uncomfortable this time. Phil’s expression is unreadable as he looks up to meet Dan’s eyes, and Dan begins to wonder if he said something wrong, something that he shouldn’t have. He and Phil are friends, and he doesn’t want to have put him out by asking something too personal, although what’s personal about this he doesn’t know. It’s meant as a general question.

“Yeah,” Phil says after a few seconds (which feels like an hour), making Dan breathe a miniscule sigh of relief that he didn’t go too far after all. “But I mean, it’s not like _nothing_ can kill us at all. You know the thing about sunlight and stakes?”

Dan nods. “Yeah, you said before. So you don’t age then?”

Phil smiles a bit at that, and shakes his head. Gosh, if they aged, that’d be _terrifying_. Easier for hunters, he supposes, but still terrifying. “Nah,” he says. “We stay at the age we were bitten at. Which is a good thing, y’know? We’re young and pretty forever.”

Dan laughs, but he’s not so sure that immortality is all it’s cracked up to be. To him, living forever would be nice, but it would also mean watching people around him grow older and pass on, more time to contemplate why humans (and, indeed, the supernatural) do exist. And that doesn’t sound like much of a fun life. Maybe that’s why Phil hesitated. But that branches into more personal territory, so he shakes off that thought as quickly as it comes to him. “So, like… can you do any cool shit?”

“What’s with all the questions all of a sudden?”

“I’m _curious_ ,” Dan says, grinning as he lifts an eyebrow. “I mean, come on. It’s not every day you make friends with a vampire. It’s like finding a fucking unicorn. I kinda want to know things about you.”

So, maybe a little dubiously, Phil answers the questions that Dan fires. Yes, they can run really fast and are quite strong, but no, they can’t throw things around with just mind power. That’s another thing that the media have bullshitted about his kind - every vampire gets their own specific _ability_ , and that seems to be what Dan is trying to pinpoint on Phil. It’s completely untrue, and ever so slightly annoying, but after a while Dan gets the message that, aside from their senses being better and their strength and speed being much higher, vampires are pretty ordinary.

“So what can you _actually_ do?” Dan asks eventually. “Like, apart from all that. Is there _anything_?”

Phil thinks for just a moment. “Well,” he says, “I wouldn’t so much call it something, but there’s healing shit in our blood. Because, y’know, of the way we heal quickly or whatever.”

Dan raises his eyebrows, a slight smile turning up his lips. “That’s… that’s cool,” he says, for want of a better word. It’s not just cool. It’s actually pretty amazing, but he can’t say that out loud without seeming overenthusiastic. So he just gives a shrug and nonchalantly adds: “But y’know, is that it? That’s disappointing. I thought you guys were, like, almighty or some crap.”

Phil laughs. “That’s it. Sorry to disappoint,” he replies, lowering his eyes back to the board as Dan throws his own chuckle his way.

-

Phil couldn’t quite believe it when Dan slipped a key into his hand one night when he was leaving the apartment. Honestly, he’d expected Dan to be far more cautious about that kind of thing considering the fact that, after all, Phil is a vampire of all things. It makes him wonder how many times Dan has let people he really shouldn’t have done into his home without much thought - it didn’t seem like it was the first time PJ was having to stop Dan going home with someone dodgy that night in the bar.

Still, the key is convenient, so it’s not like he’s going to complain. Instead of having to ring Dan’s buzzer, he simply goes up to the right floor himself and lets himself in, which seems much easier for both of them.

The second Phil is about to step across the threshold, he realises that he probably should announce himself before he walks in, considering the fact that Dan could be doing _anything_ right now. Showering. Dancing naked. Wanking. They’re all possibilities, and Phil tries to not let his mind linger on the last one.

However, just as he opens his mouth to call out and alert his friend of his presence, he hears muffled yet unmistakable notes from down the hallway. He furrows his brow and starts to walk forward quietly, ignoring the slight twisting of his stomach at the familiar melody.

Following the music, he finds himself at the door of a room he hasn’t been in yet - Dan’s room. He stops, hand on handle, for just a moment, letting his forehead fall forward and closing his eyes. He makes a silent thanks for his enhanced hearing as he listens to every note as if it were playing right next to him, drinking the almost shyly played music as if it were sustenance in itself. And, to him, it practically is.

After a minute or so, he can’t resist turning the handle, making as little noise as he can. The door opens silently, swinging forward and revealing what Phil knew must have been there.

Dan, sat at the piano, his head hung low and his eyes loosely shut as he plays the last few notes of the composition delicately. His face twists, a smile forming on his lips, as he finishes off, fingers resting on the keys as the music fades into the ringing silence of the room.

“Chopin.” Phil says simply. Dan yelps, jumping in his seat and knocking the lid of his piano. It would have crashed onto his fingers if he hadn’t snatched his hands away in time, leaving Phil have to stifle a giggle at Dan’s expression (which, he thinks, rather endearingly resembles that of a startled kitten).

“Fuck, Phil. I didn’t mean for you to-”

“To what? Know you played piano?” Phil questions, raising an eyebrow. Dan’s open mouth falters, words dying on his tongue and being swallowed back down.

He didn’t want Phil to know. It’s his thing, the one private hobby he has left, something that he’s managed to hide from PJ’s ever prying eyes. But now Phil knows, and that inevitably means being asked to play at all hours of the day so that Phil can marvel at his playing.

He gulps, shakes his head, and settles with: “Basically, yeah.”

Phil smiles softly, walking forward and sitting down on the edge of Dan’s bed without permission.

“I used to know someone that played piano. She played it a little like you did just then, with her eyes closed and her face all contorted with the emotion. She adored Chopin, especially the piece you just played.” Dan can hear the slight croak in Phil’s voice as the vampire talks with a small, sideways smile and with eyes looking at the ceiling, as if he were recalling something.

“Really? She had good taste, then. He’s one of my favourites.” Dan says, keeping his voice down and staring at Phil with intrigue.

“I always thought he was slightly overrated myself, but obviously still great. I met him once, y’know.”

“Wait, what?” Dan asks, feeling his jaw drop. He knew Phil was old, but _that_ old? He certainly doesn’t look it, but Dan’s mind flashes back to Phil telling him that vampires don’t age, so _of course_ he doesn’t look it. Dan supposes that whatever age Phil was when he was turned is the age that he has stayed, so he could be thousands of years old for all he knows.

“Yeah. Nice guy. We were in Paris for a little while we went to one of his piano performances. It was quite laid back - it was a type of event called a salon, I think? The idea was for it to be intimate. He said that he preferred that, you see.”

“Phil,” Dan says, rather breathlessly, shaking his head, “Are you actually telling me that you genuinely met _the_ Frederic Chopin? Are you shitting me mate?”

Phil can’t help but laugh at the incredulous expression on Dan’s face. He stands back up and reaches forward to poke Dan’s dimple, but misses and ends up poking Dan’s nose instead, which just makes him laugh harder.

“I’m not shitting you, no.” Phil says once he’s managed to stop laughing, clutching his side. “Though, like I say. Overrated.”

“The fucking Nocturnes are not overrated, Phil Lester. I don’t even care what you think, they are a fucking masterpiece. Jesus, what I would give to go back in time and meet that man-”

“He was about five foot seven, though. You would have been so much taller than him. He was small too, you probably could have crushed him if you wanted to.”

“I literally couldn’t give a fuck, if he was four foot eleven I still would have wanted to meet him, Phil! God, if vampires are a thing then why isn’t time travel?” Dan starts to ramble, and Phil just lets him. His eyes settle on Dan’s animated face, and the smile on his face falters, falling as quickly as his stomach does. He realises then, without really wanting to, just how much Dan reminds him of her.

-

Dan knows it's Phil now. He's been coming for what feels like months; it'd be strange if it wasn't Phil. The vampire doesn't even have to buzz for Dan to know he's on his way because, well, he's coming to Dan's apartment almost every night, for lack of anything better to do. He leaves when Dan eventually goes to bed - it's helpful that the boy is almost as nocturnal as him.

But Phil's late tonight.

It doesn't worry Dan for a while. Phil doesn't come some nights, and even when he does, he doesn't arrive before eleven. And sure, maybe there's something in him that's disappointed that Phil doesn't show, but it's fine. He's normally there the next night, with his key and his greeting and his toothy grin.

But there's something about tonight, the way that the thunder rumbles outside and the way that the rain patters against the window pane loudly and the way that Dan feels something unpleasant stirring in the pit of his gut, that gets him worried when Phil still hasn't shown by quarter past midnight, by which time lightning claps loudly against the sky. Phil's normally here if there's drizzle, let alone lightning (he’ll never, ever actually admit it to Dan, but the younger knows for certain that Phil is pretty terrified of storms).

He tries not to let it prey on his mind. It could be that Phil went home with someone else, or that he's sat in a bar until the rain passes. That's logical, and calms him somewhat, though he idea of him going home with someone else puts him out ever so slightly. But he's got to do what he's got to do, Dan supposes, and so he opens his laptop and decides to wait up a little longer.

It's almost a quarter to one before the buzzer rings sharply, jarring Dan out of the doze he finds himself slipping in and out of. Immediately he's on the alert; Phil has a key.

He tries to convince himself that there are many logical reasons why Phil would buzz for Dan rather than just let himself in - that is, if it’s even Phil at all. He might have just forgotten his key, or perhaps he wanted to check Dan was awake before letting himself in as he’s late. Neither of those reasons, however, help still his frantically beating heart as he practically leaps off the sofa, almost knocking his laptop to the floor.

He’s to the door within seconds, but he stops for a moment before actually pressing the button that’ll let him talk to Phil. Really, he doesn’t want to make himself look like he was waiting for Phil to show up or something, so he counts for five seconds under his breath before reaching forward.

“Phil?” He asks without thought, and then mentally slaps himself for it. Apparently, the plan to make it look like he wasn’t waiting for Phil isn’t going to work out for him tonight.

“Dan. Can you, uh, let me in? I don’t know where my key…” Dan can hear the strain in Phil’s voice. He swallows, trying to push down the lump in his throat at Phil’s tone, but all he manages to do is make himself feel slightly queasy as he mumbles a quick ‘of course’ and lets Phil in.

God. _God_. Why is he so worried? It's not like it's definite Phil is in any trouble at all; it might just be the way the machine made him sound, or maybe he was just distracted while he said what he did. Everything is probably fine. The likelihood of it being anything other than that is too low to be real, but that doesn't stop him from being worried about it.

He bites his lip, hovering his hand over the handle to open his door. He almost laughs at his own apprehension about opening his own goddamn front door, but any laughter is snatched from his mouth the second he sees Phil walking towards him.

Dan tries not to notice the way that Phil limps slightly as he approaches, half-staggering down the corridor. Dan's mind immediately comes to the conclusion that Phil is drunk, and it's ridiculous but that sends a sense of relief flooding through him. Phil is simply drunk, probably because he, like Dan suspected earlier, took shelter in a bar and had a few too many. A smile breaks out on Dan's lips because he knows that he'll have the whole evening to spend taking the piss out of Phil, and taking the piss out of Phil is undeniably one of Dan's favourite pass times, and he calls out to the black haired man, "You would have thought, Phil, that having had over one hundred years to practise, you'd be able to hold your drink down a bit better than this by now."

And usually, Dan knows that Phil would have laughed. He would have at least made that little endearing noise that he always makes when he’s trying to hold back his giggles, but right now Phil doesn’t make any noise, doesn’t say a word, and that’s what sets Dan’s heart racing again.

“Phil?” He says, the whispered name sounding like a plea in the barely-lit corridor.

“Dan.” Phil says by way of reply, finally reaching the brunette and all but collapsing in his arms.

“Oh, Jesus.” Dan croaks out, managing to catch Phil before the man tumbles to the floor. He hauls Phil up, staggering as he half-drags him back into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him.

Barely even thinking, he pulls Phil along to the living room, struggling to maneuver under the practically dead weight. His mind races with a thousand questions, and at the forefront of his mind is the pulsing reality that God, it could have been one of his friends that did this. One of his friends in that stupid hunter’s gang, running around and killing people as if they were animals, could have done this to Phil, and the thought makes him want to gag more than the stench of Phil’s blood does.

“Phil, you need to tell me where all the damage is so that I can help you.” Dan says as evenly as he can, laying Phil down on his back on the sofa. With a cough that Dan knows really isn’t healthy, however, Phil shakes his head, groaning.

“No. I don’t need your help. I just need shelter, I just…”

“Fuck, Phil, you’re bleeding,” Dan gasps, ignoring Phil’s words when he notices the rip in Phil’s jeans. They’re stained crimson, and Dan can tell that something is still bleeding. He has to look away, taking a second to compose himself, and he glances up at an even paler than usual Phil.

“I’m fine,” Phil insists, biting his lip as his eyes wander from Dan to his leg and back again. He knows that he’s not kidding anyone, but he doesn’t need and he certainly does not want Dan’s help. He’s more than capable of looking after himself, he just needed somewhere to stay in order to do it, and Dan’s place was convenient. His body will heal itself, he just needs time.

“No, you’re not. There’s a lot of blood, Phil. I’m not just letting you bleed out in front of me.”

“I’m a vampire, Dan. It’s not going to kill me,” Phil half scoffs, letting his head fall back against the pillows. His head is swimming, and he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his spinning vision.

“I don’t care. Let me help you. Please."

"I'll be fine," Phil says, too wearily for his own taste. He grimaces as a fresh wave of pain washes over him, and it's not even just because of that - he didn't sound at all convincing when he said that he didn't need help. He doesn't. It's late, besides the fact that he'll be okay in a while anyway; Dan actually needs to sleep, and he already looks so tired. "I heal fast. Just got to wait for the bleeding to stop."

Dan knows, logically, that Phil is probably right. He knows that the man will probably be okay on his own. But Phil just sounds so weak, so helpless, vulnerable even. He’ll be damned if he’s going to leave his friend in this state without helping him, so he doesn’t even give Phil a choice before storming out and gathering up the things he needs.

Phil tries to push himself up and see where Dan is going, but he falls back into the pillows with a tired groan. It isn’t long before Dan comes back, a bunch of towels in one hand and a bucket of water in the other.

“What are you doing?” Phil asks, voice coming out a lot weaker than he intends it to. He can hear that he sounds slightly slurred too, and he just hopes that Dan realises it’s because he’s tired rather than because he’s drunk, because he doesn’t want to give the brunette the excuse of forcing help upon him because he’s not thinking straight or something.

“Stopping the bleeding and then cleaning you up a bit.” Dan states simply, and Phil shakes his head. He reaches out to grasp Dan’s thin wrist, easily wrapping his fingers around it.

“No, you’re not. Leave it, I told you, I’ll be fine on my own, alright? You’re not helping me.” As he speaks, Phil starts to shuffle around, trying to stand up to stop Dan.

There’s a pair of firm hands pressing him back down, though, and he lets out a whine of protest. Dan’s shaking his head at him as he shoots him an icy look, all but growling his words, “Bitch, yes I am. Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”

Phil scrunches his face up in confusion as he tries to process Dan’s words. Did the brunette actually just tell him, a nearly two century old vampire, to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up?

He doesn’t protest as Dan pushes up the leg of his jeans up. A gasp slips from Dan’s mouth as he sees the wound, and Phil glances up just in time to watch Dan close his eyes and turn away for a moment before going back to the task at hand. That surprises Phil, honestly; Dan is more of the type to complain when he gets a speck of dirt under his nails, let alone blood on his fingers.

“Stay fucking still.” Dan grumbles as he dips one of the towels (he internally cringes at the thought of having to wash the blood out of his white towels, but quickly sets the thought aside to focus on more immediate issues) into the bucket of water. He wrings it out quickly, taking steady breaths to try and calm himself as he does.

Phil flinches when he damps down on the wound for the first time, and Dan tries not to let his hands shake as he keeps going, ignoring the fact that Phil is obviously in pain. This will help in the long run, he tells himself. It’s necessary.

"God, Phil," he mutters as he dabs at the injury, looking away for just a moment to regain just a little bit of the composure he is slowly losing. "This is nasty. This is, like, an open wound. how did you even manage this?" His stomach turns at the possibility that it was one of his friends, the reminder that it may very well have been one of them harsh in his head.

“Fucking territory dispute,” Phil grumbles, and Dan looks up at him with a raised eyebrow; the brunette figures that keeping Phil talking will take his mind off the pain, “I was just… Minding my own business, somehow managed to walk in on a fucking territory stand-off between us and this other group that have been trying to move into the city. I tried to get away before they saw me, but of course, I was spotted. And the second they saw me I was fucked, to be h- ah, fuck, that bloody hurts,”

“Sorry.” Dan says quietly, biting his lip as he removes the towel for a moment, looking at the wound carefully. Mostly, he’s just worried about making sure that it doesn’t get infected; he doesn’t know if these vampire healing powers include the ability to regrow limbs.

“I don’t-” Phil’s interrupted by a yawn, and Dan swears that he catches a glimpse of those infamously pointed teeth, “I don’t need your help,”

“Yeah, I can really fucking see that from the fact that you’re barely even awake.” With a shake of the head, Dan goes back to cleaning the wound. He wonders if there’s something else that he should be putting on it to help stop it getting infected, and in the back of his mind he remembers the first aid kit that his mother insisted on him bringing here when he moved in, just in case. Silently, he thanks her paranoia and lack of faith in her own son’s ability not to seriously injure himself as he puts the towel in his hand down and stands to get it, saying; “I’ve got a first aid kit in the kitchen. It’s got antiseptic and stuff in it, so I’m just going to get it, okay?”

“Antiseptic?” The vampire smiles tiredly, weakly. “Dan Howell, are you implying that I’m dirty?”

Dan chuckles. “Always,” he replies, and leaves the room.

By the time he gets back, armed with various medical equipment, Phil’s head is slowly falling to the side as his eyes droop shut. Dan can’t help but smile a little as he dumps the items on the floor, despite the fact that it might not exactly be ideal, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Phil like this before. He’s seen him as a friend, a killer, but never so open and, plainly put, vulnerable. It makes him feel like he’s trusted, which he knows he is.

“Aw, is little Philly tired?” He teases quietly, and his voice seems to snap Phil back into some kind of reality.

“Fuck off, Howell,” Phil half-slurs, and Dan grins mischievously, leaning down and placing a hand on Phil’s forehead as if to check his temperature. Pouting, Phil slaps him away, making a noise in the back of his throat that half sounds like a growl.

Grin still in place, Dan resumes his seat next to Phil and looks back down at his leg. He’s pretty sure it’s stopped bleeding now, so he picks up some of the antiseptic wipes and starts dabbing gently, unsure of how he’s actually meant to use them.

Once he thinks he’s made some kind of progress at least he starts to carefully wrap one of the rolls of bandages he found around the wound. Even if Phil really does heal as quickly as he seems to think, Dan isn’t risking leaving it uncovered. If Phil really has a problem with it, then the vampire can tear through the five layers of tape that he uses to keep the bandage in place.

“Okay, I think I’m d-” He begins, looking up at Phil, only to lose his words at the sight he finds.

Phil’s eyes are shut softly, his fringe is messed up and sticking up in all kinds of odd ways, and his one arm hangs off the sofa. It strikes Dan for a second just how pale Phil really is, and then his eyes trail down to his chest. He takes a sharp intake of breath when he notices that Phil’s chest isn’t moving, and for a moment he finds panic bubbling in his stomach, thoughts racing through his head because _Oh my God, I’ve killed Phil Lester_. But then he remembers that Phil, of course, doesn’t _need_ to breathe. He knows that sometimes he does, but that’s probably out of habit than anything else. Right now, Phil has probably passed out from from blood loss or something, so it’s not exactly a surprise that he’s not breathing at all.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he picks up one of the blankets on the arm of the sofa and throws it over Phil, tucking it in at Phil’s sides to make sure it doesn’t fall off in the middle of the night. Without even really thinking about it, he leans down and presses a firm kiss to Phil’s forehead, lingering there for just a moment before pulling away. He pushes Phil’s hair out of his face with a little giggle at the way it turns into a strange quiff when he brushes it away, before stepping away and promising himself that he'll stay awake until Phil wakes up.

-

When Phil’s eyes snap open, the first and only thing he can think of is how damn _hungry_ he is. And not the kind of hunger that can be sated by a quick snack, either. No, the kind of hunger that is primal, instinctive, and belongs to his kind alone. And all he can hear is the _thud thud thud_ of a very human heart and all he can smell is the glorious stench of very human blood.

He can barely breathe as he sits up, head pounding and senses overwhelmed, and searches for whoever he must have brought home last night. That is, until, he catches sight of the brunette sat sleeping in the chair opposite him and his heart skips a beat.

 _Dan_. It’s Dan’s heart he can hear, Dan’s blood that is making his teeth start to dig into his bottom lip with anticipation. He feels a little sick for a moment, disgusted with himself for even thinking about it, but then his mind is reeling with only one question - what the hell is he doing at Dan’s place?

He shifts his legs to swing them off the side of the couch and winces. Frowning, he looks down at where the pain came from to see layers of bandages, probably hiding some kind of wound from him. He doesn’t even hesitate to start ripping them off, easily tearing through the tape that someone (probably Dan) used to secure them.

It’s barely there anymore. His body has done its job correctly, as it always does, but he can see the fading remnants of what he thinks was probably a deep gash, and he gasps.

Tracing his fingers along the edge of it, he tries to recall how on earth that even happened. The last thing he remembers is walking down the street, trying to hurry to Dan’s place, and then-

 _Oh_.

Shaking his head, he pulls the stained leg of his jeans down and glances at the clock on the wall. He bites his lip when he realises that the sun is going to come up at any moment, and he just really, really needs to find someone to feed on. He knows full well that his body is weakened from the effort of fixing itself, that if he doesn’t get what he needs soon then he’ll probably lose what little control he does have over his instincts and end up hurting Dan, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to live with that.

With some difficulty and a few whispered curse words, he manages to get both feet on the floor, looking over warily to make sure that Dan hasn't woken up because, if what he thinks happened actually did happen, then there's no way Dan will let him back out there. But the boy is still asleep, curled slightly onto one side, mouth ever so slightly open, and Phil sighs in relief.

He slowly and wearily shifts weight onto his feet, drawing in a sharp breath as the ache hits him. With another brief glance at Dan, he carefully lifts himself from the sofa, conscious that time is fast running out and he's ever so slightly inhibited by the pain that shoots through his leg. Probably more than ever so slightly, in fact, but if he can get out before Dan knows he's gone, then he'll be fine.

Once he's fully standing, he waits for a moment so that he can adjust to the feeling. It hurts, and he's still a bit unsteady, but he figures he can just about do it if he can get to someone in time.

When he's sure he can move without falling, he takes a step forward, and then another, and then he's on his way to the door, throwing a look back at Dan that's almost _guilty_. The boy will know he's gone, of course, will know he's alright, but it just, it doesn't seem fair to leave without so much as a thank you. After all, it's probably thanks to him that Phil isn't lying on a street somewhere, it's probably thanks to him that his body fixed itself as quickly as it did. But he can't thank him now, he has to go, before he does something that he knows he'll _really_ regret.

It’s that look that costs him. He’s not looking where he’s going and he’s unsteady enough on his feet as it is, and he finds himself crashing into a side unit that he’d barely even registered was there.

“I wasn’t staring at your boobs Emma!” Dan cries as he bolts upright. Phil frowns, spinning around to face the younger boy.

“What the fuck?” They both say in unison, Dan’s voice cracking from having only just woken up, and Phil’s voice laced with confusion.

“What the fuck,” Dan is the first one to break the silence that settles between them for just a few seconds as they stare at each other, locked in a stalemate, “dude, the fuck you think you goin’?” His voice is slurred from having just woken up, and Phil thinks that in any other situation he would have laughed at just how simply adorable Dan looks right now.

The brunette tries to glare at the way the corners of Phil’s lips twitch up, but he’s interrupted by a yawn and his hands reaching up to rub at his eyes. He knows, despite being half asleep, that Phil was definitely trying to leave, and that worries him more than he cares to admit. To start with, _why_ would Phil leave? Did Dan do something wrong?

But mostly, it’s the thought that if Phil leaves, he could get hurt. He doesn’t look too steady on his feet still, and Dan wouldn’t expect him to after the way he showed up at the flat last night, vampire or not.

“I’m just… I have to do something. I’ll be back soon,” Phil says quietly, turning away from Dan so that Dan can only see his profile. He notices the way that Phil’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and it makes something inside Dan squirm anxiously.

“Phil… Tell me where you’re going, or I’ll stop you.” Dan says firmly, and Phil splutters.

“No offence Dan, but how the hell are you planning on doing that?” Pouting, Dan shrugs at Phil’s comment, and the elder laughs again, “Look, I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“But where are you going? Just tell me that, it can’t hurt, please,”

For a moment, Phil turns just to stare at Dan, his jaw hanging open as he considers just how much it could hurt. He knows that he has to get out of here soon - all he can smell is Dan’s blood at it’s driving him _mad_ and he can only control his instincts to a certain point. Stopping to take the time to explain to Dan, and then most likely ending up in an argument about the various ethics surrounding his somewhat unusual eating habits, is not something he has time for.

“I’ve got to get something I need, Dan.” He says, and Dan sits up a little straighter.

Phil cannot mistake the widening of Dan’s eyes as the single, simple, one syllable word falls from his mouth. “Blood.”

Phil clears his throat. Throat constricted a little, he gives Dan a curt nod, and watches as the younger lets out a small, shaky breath.

"Are you going to..." He hesitates delicately for a moment, combing through his head for something more tactful to say, but failing to come up with anything. So he takes a deep breath, sighs it out again. "Are you going to kill someone?"

Phil looks at the ground, and Dan regrets the words the moment he says them. He knows it wasn't nearly thought out or gentle enough but he needs to know, just so that he can gauge just how much trouble Phil is really in. "Well," Phil mumbles eventually, shuffling his feet. "It's not about killing someone more than it is not leaving witnesses. I mean, I can’t risk someone going to a hospital with bite marks and a story about me feeding off of them."

Dan's heart is pounding. He doesn’t know why; he doesn’t get worried about other people, he doesn’t. If Phil is stupid enough to risk getting mauled to death out there, then why should that bother him? It shouldn’t, is the thing, but something about Phil leaving and never coming back makes him feel sick. Maybe it’s not even other vampires he’s worried about, maybe it’s the fact that he’s generally weakened by injury. If anyone were to go for him, he wouldn’t be able to fend them off nearly so well, not in the state he arrived in.

“I’ll come back later,” Phil says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, shoving his arms in his jacket and turning towards the door. “This’ll take me an hour, maximum, I promise. I’ll be fine.”

And Dan considers letting him go for just a moment. Phil’s unnaturally strong and fast, and he’s a grown man, many years older than Dan could ever hope to reach. He’s probably been doing this for so long, over a century, in fact. He’s probably dealt with worse than other vampires, worse than well-meaning best friends.

“Not my neck.”

The words shock both of them. Dan doesn’t even raise his voice above the mutter that it’s already at, doesn’t even look up from the ground, because he knows Phil will hear him. And hear him, Phil does. He stops frozen still, silent, for just a second until he turns around. “What did you just say?” He asks incredulously. He knows full well. He just wants to make sure he didn’t imagine it.

Dan shrugs, folding up his sleeve and exposing the pale flesh of his forearm. “I think you heard me,” he says, too evenly for Phil to be comfortable. “Not my neck. Only once. Only tonight, okay?”

“Very fucking _funny_ ,” Phil responds, too quickly, too quietly. Because he knows exactly what Dan is trying to do, trying to say, but he’s not having it. Besides, knowing Dan, he’s probably just trying to make fun, have a laugh. That has to be it. “Seriously, that's _hilarious_. I’d write that one down y’know, if I were you.”

Dan blinks, and then frowns. “Come off it,” he snaps. “You know I’m being serious.”

" _No_ , Dan," Phil bites back. He frowns, because his voice doesn't sound nearly as clear and certain as he'd like it to. It's because he's thrown, that's it, Dan's caught him off guard. He could go out and find someone in the time it takes to convince Dan that letting him feed off of him is a bad idea. "You're not, because you don't know what I could do to you."

"The worst you're going to do is kill me, right?" Dan narrows his eyes. "You were going to do that anyway."

It's almost as if he can _feel_ the air in the room turn to sponge, impossible to breathe in comfortably. He regrets it, oh god, he regrets it, because the look on Phil's face says it all - that _stung_. No matter how passive the vampire may be trying to look, he doesn't look it at all. The way his eyebrows knit together, the way he bites his lip (Dan doesn't find himself staring at Phil's elongated canines for a second too long, he _doesn't_ ), the way his eyes narrow; it all gives him away. That was too far. "Phil, I-"

"Don't," Phil responds flatly. "I'll be back soon. Promise."

Dan shakes his head, slowly at first, gaining in urgency as he stands up himself, ignoring the headrush it gives him. "Stay here," he says, as firmly as he can manage. He winces when his voice sounds more like a plead. "I can't let you get killed tonight."

"Dan, _please_ , I told you I have to-"

"And _I_ told _you_ ," Dan interrupts easily, "that you're not allowed anywhere near my neck." He shows his rolled up sleeve to Phil, the inches of smooth white skin on the underside of his forearm. "I didn't say about my arm, did I?"

Swallowing on the lump in his throat, Phil’s eyes flicker down to the skin Dan has revealed to him, involuntarily running his tongue over his lips. He hates this, he really does. He hates the fact that he can hear every beat of Dan’s oh so fragile human heart, hates the fact that right now, the idea of feeding off Dan is all too appealing. After all, Dan is stood there, offering himself to Phil as if it meant nothing at all, and Phil can’t deny his own biology.

Still, he forces himself to shake his head. He tears his eyes away from Dan and moves to turn around, but a hand is gripping his arm, and the contact makes his stomach flip.

“Phil, it’s not that big of a deal. I can tell you when I need you to stop. Just… Let me do this one thing for you, okay?” Dan’s voice has dropped to a half whisper in an octave that is at least a step down to usual. When Phil doesn’t say anything, the brunette simply tugs on the vampire’s arm, pulling him towards the sofa.

He’s surprised when Phil doesn’t resist his movements, and his heart rate speeds up a little as he realises that Phil is actually going to let him do this. As much as this is what Dan wants, the reality of it happening is a little dizzying.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he sits on the sofa and opens his legs wide. Phil stares down at him with a raised eyebrow, and Dan mumbles, “Sit here. It’ll be easier than having to twist my arm around if you do.”

With a very small nod, so small in fact that Dan’s eyes linger a little too long on Phil’s face as he wonders whether he actually imagined the gesture or not, Phil does as he’s told. He settles between Dan’s legs and wishes that he were facing the younger boy right now because he needs the assurance that this is what Dan wants, that Phil isn’t taking advantage of the situation in any way.

And this time, when Dan offers his arm, Phil doesn't refuse. Dan snakes the limb round so it’s in front of Phil’s eyes, the vast expanses of Dan’s forearm easily available to him. He takes Dan's arm in his trembling hands, gently yet tightly, being careful with his grip to make sure that Dan isn’t trapped. And Dan relaxes a little at that; it's not as daunting when he has the option of escape.

"Nudge me if I go too far," Phil whispers, and Dan nods.

Phil leans down hesitantly, pressing his lips lightly against the pulse point on Dan's wrist, and Dan tries not to twitch at how real this has become. He's not in any trouble, Phil's not going to kill him, he has no reason to be afraid. And he's _not_ afraid, truly. But here he is in his lounge, sat on his sofa, doing something he never would have even considered three or four months ago, and it's finally become _real_. It's an odd sensation, one that gives him butterflies. Or maybe that’s just his body’s indication of how nervous he is; he has no idea what to expect.

But Phil doesn't bite down, not there. He moves up Dan's arm a little bit, to just slightly above his wrist where the flesh is softer, and swipes his tongue briefly over the skin, making Dan shiver ever so slightly. No matter how much Phil knows that Dan wants him to get this over with, Phil's going as slowly as he can. He doesn't want to do any damage aside from what is absolutely necessary.

Dan feels Phil's teeth then, gently, not even enough to scratch. But they're sharp, as if there were razors hidden behind Phil's lips, and he starts to really feel the nerves. Or is that just the anticipation?

God, he wishes Phil would hurry up.

The pressure that Phil is putting onto his wrist gradually increases as he presses his teeth further and further down onto Dan's skin. It's almost as if Phil is readying Dan for whatever comes next, making sure that he is comfortable before he really begins. Dan appreciates that, he really does. Despite the fact that he wishes things would just go faster, be done and over with, he's glad that Phil is taking him into consideration and not just treating him as Dan imagines Phil has treated everyone else he’s done this to.

When Phil's teeth break the skin, Dan inhales sharply. Even with the preparation, it still hurts, and he does his best not to cringe so as not to tear his flesh any further.

But after a moment, that feeling fades. Phil's teeth are sharp, and it only takes what feels like a small nip to get what he needs.

Dan's blood is warm and sweet as it pools into Phil's mouth, and the temptation is to suck on it straight away, but Phil thinks it's probably a little too soon to do that - it can feel a bit overwhelming for some people. So instead, he just swallows what's already there, steadily and slowly as he can so as not to give Dan any nasty shocks.

The brunette can feel it every time Phil swallows, and that doesn't seem to be often. And, of course, he can't see what Phil's doing or how much blood there is, but there has to be quite a lot of it. It doesn't matter, though; he feels something strange beginning in his head, something giddy and light and lacking sense. The bite doesn't hurt so much when he's got that to focus on. All he really feels is a need to be _closer_.

He curls himself in towards Phil's body with a little moan, resting his forehead against the top of Phil's back on where his shoulder blades are and winding his legs around Phil, trying to anchor him there because, _god_ , he just needs the contact. The something in his head is swimming out all too quickly to the rest of him, and he feels like he's floating off into nowhere, feels like he's turning to liquid, feels like nothing else matters.

Phil feels the younger's movement but barely notices it, because the relief of getting what he needs is always greater than anything else. He'll probably feel guilty later, but all that matters now is what's under his tongue, what's in his mouth, what's keeping him alive. He licks at the remainder of what has flown naturally, before letting himself take a pull on what hasn't.

Dan gasps, audibly, because _fuck_. Fuck, there's a weird kind of rush in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in his _head_ , and it makes him feel something incredibly warm and pleasant. There's something in him, no matter how much he would otherwise deny it, that is beginning to feel nicely _flustered_. He flinches from the unexpected sensation, and Phil notices. God, does he notice; he nearly tears a line in Dan's skin, the boy shudders so hard.

He pulls away, looking as best as he can over his shoulder at Dan. He felt that. It was almost an uncomfortable twitch, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt him or make him in any way uncomfortable beyond what he has to. He tries to give Dan a look as if to say, "Are you okay?", but it's hard when the boy is still bleeding and when he's still not one hundred percent in the right state of mind to offer comfort.

Dan, though, understands. He nods, trying not to notice his blood smeared over Phil's lips. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keep going."

Phil doesn’t have to be told twice.

His lips are back on the bite in seconds, and though he wants to be gentle, though he wants to keep going as slow as he was in order to assure the younger’s well being, he finds himself simply going faster. Dan is practically clenching himself around Phil and it only spurs the vampire on, breathing heavily as he drains what he needs.

“Phil,” Dan lets out, dragging out the vowel longer than necessary. He feels light, in a sense, almost distant from what’s going on, but at the same time he can feel _everything_. His senses have never been so heightened as they are in this moment and it’s terrifying, it truly is, yet it’s more exhilarating than he could have ever imagined.

His sense of time seems to be warped by the rush through his body, because he honestly can’t say whether it’s seconds, minutes, or hours before he realises that it’s starting to go too far. His head is swimming, and it's so pleasant, but there's something that's beginning to feel _too_ light and _too_ distant. He's getting _dizzy_ , and that can't be good. He doesn't know whether it's the lack of oxygen from the blood loss or whether it's normal, but it doesn't _feel_ normal. It doesn't feel right.

He doesn't want to, but he ends up moving his free hand to Phil's shoulder and shoving with a kind of urgency that's too weak for him to register, but it's definitely there. "Phil," he murmurs again, voice hoarse. "Kind of need blood to live."

Phil pulls away without a second thought, instantly replacing his mouth with his hand to try and stop the bleeding. He glances back at Dan and feels his heart fall when he sees just how pale the brunette is, when he sees the way that Dan’s hair is plastered to his forehead which is practically shining with sweat.

“Why didn’t you tell me to stop sooner?” He half-growls, and Dan laughs meekly, eyes flickering down to the blood still on Phil’s lips.

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me how much that would turn me on?” Dan giggles, semi-deliriously, and Phil would probably have laughed along in any other situation, but with Dan as he is right now, this doesn’t feel like a laughing matter.

“You are so fucking out of it, shit. Right, hang on,” Phil says quietly, taking his hand off the wound, “put your hand over his and apply pressure, and don’t let go unless you want to bleed out before I fix it,”

Leaving a grinning Dan on the sofa, Phil pulls away and goes straight for the bandages that are still sprawled all over the floor from last night. He picks up a handful of them and looks back over his shoulder at Dan. The brunette’s eyes are fixed on the wound his fingers are covering, and his mouth is hanging open slightly, almost curiously.

“Dan,” he says simply, snapping Dan’s attention back to him. “Give me your arm,”

“You’re not going to start drinking my blood again, are you?” Dan grumbles, hesitating in holding his arm out.

“No,” Phil says quietly, trying to ignore the flicker of hurt at how scared Dan looks at him for a moment, “I’m going to fix you up so you can sleep it off.”

It doesn't take anymore than that to persuade Dan, who offers his arm to Phil again as easily as he did earlier. Phil takes it and peels away Dan’s fingers, biting his own lip a little too hard when he sees how bad it actually is. He never should have even thought about drinking from Dan, he should have realised that he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself once he began.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he makes a makeshift use of a few of the bandages, pressing them against the bite mark to try and staunch the wound. He can see the outlines of his own teeth and it repulses him as much as the feeling of Dan’s blood still on his mouth. With the back of his free hand, he wipes it away from his lips, but somehow he can still feel it lingering.

It takes a few minutes of Phil desperately telling himself repeatedly _don’t panic_ , _no, not yet,_ before the bleeding stops. When it does, he lets out an audible, shaking sigh of relief as he takes away the bloodied bandages and replaces them with clean ones. This time, he efficiently wraps them around Dan’s arm properly. He doesn’t bother with tape, figuring that Dan isn’t going to try and pull the bandages off like he might have done, and just ties them up instead.

Just as he finishes, Dan’s head falls heavy onto his shoulder and he groans, realising that there’s no way Dan’s going to be able to walk himself to his room, which means that Phil will have to carry him. Then again, he supposes that that’s not going to take any particular effort from him right now, as he’s still buzzing slightly with the rush of his high from the blood (he finds it a little sickening that it made him feel so good, despite the fact that it was hurting Dan).

With a small, strained huff, Phil tucks his hands underneath Dan’s armpits and hauls the younger boy up. He drapes Dan’s left arm around the back of his neck and takes a firm hold of that hand, and then wraps his own right arm around Dan’s waist. It doesn’t take him much effort to pull Dan along, and he smiles as every so often the brunette nuzzles into his neck, mumbling unintelligible words in his sleep.

As gently as he can, he lowers Dan down onto the black bedspread, watching as Dan curls into a fetal position the second Phil’s let go of him. On second thought, he runs back into the lounge and grabs one of the blankets that Phil had on him earlier, bringing it straight back and throwing it over Dan. The last thing he needs is for the boy to catch hypothermia from not sleeping under a blanket at this time of year in this frankly freezing flat.

And just for a moment, as if it doesn't happen, his hand brushes through Dan's hair like it never would have had the boy been awake. It's almost endearing, watching the way that the soft strands fall back across the boy's forehead, and even Phil can't deny that Dan looks lovely when he's sleeping - not nearly so dickish. He doesn't frown in his sleep, doesn't chew his lip, doesn't bite his nails; he just breathes, mumbles, and it's so different to see him still and, really, it's something that's too special for Phil to give words to.

But then he remembers that it's partly down to him that Dan is so out of it, and he moves back a little, flicking his eyes over to the window as he decides to wait up for Dan.

-

By the time Dan wakes up, Phil’s had to draw the blinds in order to block out the sunlight.

Usually, Dan gets up late enough for the full strength of the sun at noon to be spilling into the room by the time his eyes crack open, so for a moment when he starts to surface back into consciousness he thinks that he’s _really_ overslept this time. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept in this late, but still, he doesn’t exactly remember going to bed around when the birds started to sing, so it confuses him for a moment.

He makes to sit up, but the second he does he realises that was a mistake because the pounding in his head knocks him right back down onto his pillow. He groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead and trying to remember what the fuck made him feel so off, how much he must have been drinking the night before. Thing is, he doesn't remember going out.

And then, he sees it. Having lifted his arm, he sees the swathes of gauzy material tied neatly around the point just below his wrist. It hurts, but he doesn't remember injuring it. He frowns, reaching to untie the knot and fumbling at it with one hand until it loosens enough for him to just pull it off.

When he looks again, he startles for a second. On his arm are two puncture points, an angry shade of red, but no worse than anything Dan has done before. But as he looks at them, things start to come back piece by piece. He already remembers Phil stumbling through his door half-conscious, cleaning the vampire up and leaving him to rest, but the memory of rolling up his sleeve and offering his own blood comes back in one quick flash, and everything else follows in quick succession.

It all makes sense, though, even if it still feels a little languid.

Holding his breath, he tilts his head up  a little and lets his eyes wander around the room, confused as to why it’s still dark. His eyes then fall onto the blinds, and he just about manages to make out the sunlight peeking through from behind them. That’s odd, he thinks. He can’t remember the last time he actually took the trouble to close the blinds in his room.

Then his eyes flicker to the shape in the corner of the room. At any other time, he knows that he’d freak out, jump up off the bed and start yelling for help - for God’s sakes, who wouldn’t if there was some random stranger stood in the corner of their dark room - but his head is still throbbing and he still feels more than slightly out of it, so he simply just stays like that, eyes locked on the unmistakably human shape.

“How do you feel?” It takes Dan a moment to place the hushed northern voice, but once he does, he simply lets his head fall back against the pillow once again with a quiet groan.

“Like there’s some creepy vampire dude standing in my bedroom watching me sleep.” Dan grumbles, bringing his uninjured arm up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He swears that he hears Phil laugh a little at that, and he would have made some pointed remark if he could think straight enough to figure one out. Instead, he just closes his eyes and thinks of a thousand curse words he would quite like to throw at Phil right now, many of them rather colourful and inventive.

“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. You tried to stay awake for me, right? It was only fair that I did the same for you. Except I can actually do it, because, y’know, the whole vampire thing,” Phil says, and the voice is much closer this time. Dan frowns and opens one of his eyes to find Phil standing right over him, his hair looking slightly damp and his face clean of the blood and dirt that it was coated with when he arrived.

“Did you use my fucking shower?” He asks, slightly amused by the flustered look on Phil’s face.

“You were asleep for _ages_. Besides, I might be one hundred and eighty-seven, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to look nice.” Phil says rather indignantly, crossing his arms.

"Oh my _god_ ," Dan whines mockingly. "Can't believe I'm paying my water bill for a vampire to use my fucking shower."

"It's nice to see you've got your priorities straight," Phil chuckles in response, shaking off the defensiveness. He sits down on the bed. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Are you feeling alright?"

"Aside from the splitting headache? Sure," Dan drawls, rolling onto his side so that he's facing Phil.

With a small, sympathetic smile, Phil reaches forward, placing his hand on Dan’s forehead. The younger boy hisses at the sudden contact of Phil’s cold, almost ice cold, skin against his own warm flesh, and draws away. Phil persists, however, keeping his hand on Dan’s forehead and chewing on his bottom lip, thinking.

“You’re a bit warmer than you probably should be. I don’t know, it’s hard for me to tell.”

“What, because of your fucking cold vampire hands?” Dan mumbles, drawing away from Phil’s touch.

“You’re still a sarcastic fuck, so at least there’s that, you’re obviously not that bad. The headache is worrying me, though. I don’t really… I don’t really know what the effects of this are if, y’know, the person is left alive.” Phil’s hand ends up resting on Dan’s stomach, fingers spreading wide and lightly rubbing the fabric of the boy’s t-shirt. He sits there, for a moment, staring absently at his fingers and pondering what to do.

“Oh, so do you not bite _all_ your dates then, Phil?” Dan jests, the smile playing at the corner of his lips making Phil roll his eyes.

“I’ll have you know, Daniel Howell, that I have never bitten a woman.” Phil says, puffing up his chest a little as if with pride. Dan raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at the sight of his friend getting so adorably proud about the fact that yes, he may be a blood-sucking murderer, but hey, at least he doesn’t kill women.

“Really? I mean, to be honest Phil, you see to be pretty into guys so that’s not exactly a shock,”

“Hey, I’m very into girls, I’ll have you know.” Phil says with a pout, crossing his arms.

Dan goes to sit up and make some other retort, but he hisses, a hand flying up to his forehead. The smile falls off Phil’s face as quickly as Dan falls back down.

He finds himself gnawing on his bottom lip, hissing when he accidentally splits the skin. The faint taste of blood on his tongue sparks a thought, and he looks back up at Dan, catching him in the split second that Dan’s eyes linger on Phil’s hand before they go back up to match Phil’s glance.

“Don’t freak out. My blood, it… I told you, right? It sort of has healing shit, I guess. It’ll help you.”

Dan's eyes narrow for a moment, before widening almost comically. "You're not saying that I have to... are you?"

"No, I'm not saying you have to," Phil says, holding down a laugh at the look on Dan's face; the boy looks _horrified_. Then again, it's not exactly something that he'd consider, so it's not surprising. "I'm just saying that it's that or waiting until that headache goes, and I don't know when that'll be. Your choice."

Dan looks contemplative for a moment, and Phil can almost hear him weighing up his options. For one thing, it's gross, and it's not like Dan really _wants_ to do it. But he doesn't exactly want to have to put up with the pounding in his head for much longer either, because it's already driving him up the wall. It _hurts_.

“Right, well, how exactly do you intend to get your freaky vampire blood into me? Because quite honestly I’m not really up for that whole blood sucking thing.” Dan says with a small laugh, trying to make light of the situation. But Phil can hear the slight nervous shake of Dan’s voice, he can see the way the younger starts to tap his fingers against the side of his leg. He knows that Dan is nervous about whatever Phil is going to suggest, and that makes Phil hesitate before saying anything.

“Uhm, no, nothing like that. But, it, uh, might be a bit weird maybe. Maybe. Less weird than blood sucking though, I guess. Probably. I don’t know, depends on-”

“Phil, stop, you’re rambling,” Dan interrupts with a slight smile, “and it’s making me nervous. So the best thing to do is probably just get whatever it is over with before I change my mind and say no.”

“Right. Okay. Dan, this doesn’t mean anything, I-”

“Phil, just fucking do it,” Dan says with a roll of his eyes, trying to stifle a laugh at how flustered Phil looks.

His laugh is snatched from his throat the second he feels Phil’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him onto his back gently. Dan almost protests when Phil suddenly swings a leg round so that he’s practically straddling Dan’s hips, pinning him down under his weight, and he doesn’t know what he is that stops him from spilling the one thousand objections he has running through his mind. It’s definitely not, however, the way that the glint in Phil’s eyes makes his stomach flip.

He watches, almost mesmerized, as Phil bites down on his lower lip again, splitting it properly as he drags his teeth along the skin. Beads of the familiar crimson liquid start to pool on the vampire’s pale lips, one or two of them falling down his chin, and Dan’s too busy staring at them to notice the way that Phil leans down.

There are a few times in Dan Howell's life, remarkably, where he has been wrong. This is another one of those times. Whereas he said the best thing to do would be to get this over with, now he's not so sure, because Phil's lips are cold on his but the contact is, in its own way, confusingly warm.

When Phil said that it'd be weird, he wasn't kidding. This is unlike no kiss he’s ever had before; he can’t hear the desperately caught breaths of the other person because Phil _doesn’t_ breathe, and he can’t feel the slightly too quick throbbing of the other person’s heart because Phil’s heart _doesn’t_ beat, and his mind is screaming that this is _Phil_ , and yes, Phil might be the guy he tried to get off with in a bar a few months ago, but Phil is the best friend he’s had in a very long time.

And yet, despite how weird it is, despite how much he knows that this is _wrong_ , there’s a huge part of him enjoying it. Ignoring the more than slightly odd taste of Phil’s blood on his tongue (although he’s not going to particularly complain about that considering the fact that his head feels a little better already), the kiss is actually really fucking good.

He finds himself letting his eyes flicker shut, finds his hands trailing up Phil's body, fingers tracing the divots and bumps before they find their way into Phil's hair. He fists his hands there, the soft tufts barely registering under his touch as he kisses Phil, hard, licking at the cool blood that flows from Phil's lip into his mouth.

He doesn't know how much of it he takes before Phil starts to pull off, but it feels like enough, because the headache is barely there anymore. But he still lingers on Phil's mouth for as long as he can, the metallic taste of his lips not even bothering him in the slightest because, _shit_ , Phil's mouth is plush and soft and clever and wicked and it's like he _knows_ exactly how to make Dan feel the way he does in that moment, with a pounding heart and clammy palms and a desire for _more than that_.

The second Dan finds his fingers falling from Phil’s hair and pulling at the elder’s t-shirt blindly, however, is when Phil really puts down his foot, pulling away before Dan even knows it’s happening. One moment Phil’s there, lips applying pressure in all the right ways, and then he’s gone, Dan’s head ducking forward for just a moment to try and follow the man’s lips.

A moment lingers, and then he allows himself to open his eyes, looking up at a rather flustered looking Phil with a slight blush. He feels a cold touch on his hands, which are still grasping Phil’s t-shirt, and drops them instantly, getting the hint from Phil.

“I, uh. Yeah. Shit. Uhm, I just. Are you okay?” Phil stutters, licking over the still slightly bleeding wound on his lip. He can’t bring himself to look Dan in the eye, so instead his gaze lands on the hands resting in Dan’s lap, not fidgeting for once in Dan’s life, and he swallows hard. “Like, is your head better?”

“Much better,” Dan says with a grin, reaching one of his hands forward to lightly grip Phil’s jaw, pulling the elder's head back up to face him. “Doesn’t really hurt at all now. I do have one question though.”

“What’s that?” Phil whispers, voice a little hoarse.

“Can you do that again?”

And the only word that Dan can use to describe Phil in the moments following Phil’s next words is oblivious, because Phil simply stammers out a quiet: “Do what again?”, and Dan ends up staring incredulously at him for a moment.

“The fucking thing where you kiss me, you idiot,” Dan laughs, grinning at the way Phil’s cheeks quickly flush. Honestly, it’s so damn endearing that Dan almost takes the initiative and kisses Phil himself, but instead he ends up squeaking in surprise as Phil leans forward again to connect their lips.

And, god, there it is again. There’s that weird kind of rush in Dan’s chest, but only really there. He doesn’t feel dizzy or lightheaded or anything following those - he just feels warm. Which is odd, because Phil’s skin is absolutely icy beneath his fingers to the point where, when one of Phil’s hands finds its way onto Dan’s jaw to hold the younger in place, Dan shivers.

Dan’s hands start wandering again, desperate for even he’s not entirely sure what. They claw at the bottom of Phil’s shirt, playing with the fabric there for a moment before he slips his fingers beneath it, trailing them up along a small expanse of skin, tapping lightly. He swears that he feels Phil sigh into his mouth at the small gestures and he grins, amazed that he can elicit such a reaction so quickly.

He snags his teeth on Phil’s lip, his teeth blunt in comparison to the points that he can feel in Phil’s mouth. Something almost like a growl, guttural in the back of Phil’s throat, sounds and before Dan really knows it, Phil’s toying with the hem of his t-shirt, almost teasing him as he runs it between his fingers, pushing it up slowly.

Without even thinking twice, Dan reaches down to pull his own shirt off, taking Phil’s movements as an invitation to do so. He throws it over Phil’s head to some corner of the room, honestly not caring at all about being tidy with his laundry right now, and moves straight back to kiss Phil. Their teeth clash as their lips move messily and their hands move without restraint, and Dan whimpers at the feeling of Phil’s fangs scraping along his lip, making every hair on his body stand on end.

They’re breathless by now, at least, Dan is, the kiss breaking into smaller and more frequent ones as he attempts to steady his breaths, but to no avail. His chest feels constricted - it’s like there’s a weight there, a weight of something he wants and something he knows he’s probably going to get.

Then there’s the heat pooling in his stomach, the familiar swooping sensation of his gut every time Phil’s fingers move just in the slightest. There’s the overwhelming desire to be closer, to be right up against the vampire, to be pushed back into the bed and marked and God, he’s already so wrecked. And it’s like Phil can read his mind, because there’s a cold hand on his bare shoulder and he’s pushed down, down, until he feels the rumpled sheets of the bed beneath him.

He’s too busy chasing after Phil’s mouth when the vampire pulls back to even bother maintaining some pretence of composure. Phil takes a moment to pull off his shirt quickly, the action blurred before Dan’s eyes, and then leans forward again, but lips don’t attach to Dan’s. Dan doesn’t realise why until he feels those cold digits wrapping around his wrists, making Dan draw in a sharp breath, and Phil somehow has them pinned above Dan’s head without so much as Dan scarcely registering the movements. The strangled, high pitched whine he lets out would have embarrassed him at any other time, but as Phil starts to drag his teeth down from the corner of Dan’s mouth, down his jaw and along the exposed flesh of Dan’s neck, he realises that now is not a time for being self-conscious.

Phil doesn’t apply any pressure at all but he doesn’t need to, just the sharp point grazing across Dan’s Adam’s apple is enough to make him buck up into Phil with need. He clenches his trapped hands and arcs his back, desperate just for some kind of proper contact, but the writhing just makes Phil chuckle and tighten his grip. He does, however, grant Dan a quick rolling down of his hips - nothing forceful, nothing anywhere near what Dan wants right now, yet it still earns him a gasp followed by a moan. He never imagined Dan to be so _loud_ (not that he actually imagined this scenario, of course, at least not consciously), and perhaps it’s just because his senses are heightened beyond the point of sanity, but every word is sending heat to his groin.

Grinning, Phil licks into the dip of Dan’s collarbone and nips on the flesh there - just a little, nothing that could pierce the skin, because he’s all too conscious of how dange **r** ous that could end up being. Dan groans, throwing his head back against the pillow. “Never took you for a fucking tease.”

With a smirk, Phil looks up at Dan and then looks down again, starting to move his attention further down. “That’s okay. I always took you for a fucking whiner, so.”

“Fuck off, Ph- _Phil_ ,” his chastising is interrupted by a whine of Phil’s name falling off his lips as the vampire bites softly on Dan’s skin again. He has to hold back a laugh at the way Dan groans when he realises that he just whined _again_ , and shakes his head, starting to move away from the younger’s neck. He reattaches their lips hotly, licking along Dan’s lower lip before he bites down on it, catching it just gently between his teeth.

Dan sighs appreciatively against Phil’s touch, into his mouth, his hands curling into fists in Phil’s hold as his hips grind back up, almost reflexive by this point. He just, _god_ , he needs the friction, he needs Phil, he needs _something_ , or else he’s going to go insane. Every touch of Phil’s skilled fingers is driving him so close to the edge of insanity, and he’s absolutely loving it.

“More, please,” he begs, tugging half-heartedly on Phil’s grip of his hands. He doesn’t want him to let go, not at all, but he’s almost painfully hard at this point and he can’t stand being this clothed for much longer. Everything is too hot and his stomach is too tight and Phil is having far too much fun teasing him, so he honestly doesn’t care at this point if he has to beg for Phil to give him more.

For a moment, Phil stops, glancing down at Dan as if he’s confused as to what the younger meant. But then his free hand is snaking between the two of them, reaching down for the button on Dan’s jeans.

However, it takes seconds for Dan to realise that Phil’s never getting his jeans off like that, not when they’re so tight, so he pulls his wrists from Phil’s grasp and quickly unbuttons and uzips the jeans. He tugs them off as gracefully as he can, but maneuvering jeans this tight in situations such as these is never ideal.

The second they’re gone, Dan starts to fumble with Phil’s trousers too, fingers trembling as he shudders in pleasure at Phil’s teeth grazing along all the skin they can reach from this angle whilst the elder’s hands stroke the skin just above the waistband of Dan’s boxers. He’s receiving so much from Phil that it’s almost overwhelming, but there’s still the small amount of composure he has left telling him that this isn’t fair, that it’s time he gives Phil something back, so he moves his hand to slip under the the singular cloth layer that Phil still has on.

The moment he does, however, he feels Phil’s hand back on his wrists, pushing him right back down. The elder man lets all his weight push down on Dan, making the brunette gasp, as he leans forward, reaching down to half-whisper, half-growl in Dan’s ear, “Did I say that you could move your hands?”

“I, uhm-”

“Y’know, I could just leave you like this-” With his free hand, Phil presses down on the obvious bulge in Dan’s boxers, eliciting a moan from the boy that sends his stomach swooping, “So easily. It wouldn’t bother me. Is that what you want?”

“N-No! No, please-”

“Then keep your hands _still_.” Dan draws in a sharp breath, shivering as he hears Phil’s voice sound low right on his ear and feels the expulsion of air that accompanies it, cool on his hot skin. “If I let go, are you going to move them again?”

Dan doesn't even hesitate before shaking his head frantically from left to right, a meek high pitched noise escaping from the back of his throat. He can practically feel the grin on Phil’s lips against his ear, and it makes him want to disobey Phil, to run his fingers through the man’s hair and then down his back and then up to his hair again, but he gets the feeling that Phil wasn’t joking about just leaving Dan here alone if he did that, and at this point he doesn’t think that getting himself off is going to satisfy him at all.

“Lube?” Phil half-gasps, struggling to maintain his previous tone. Everything is just so _loud_ \- he can hear the constant and ever quickening hammering of Dan’s heart going _thud thud thud_ and he can hear every breath and gasp and almost-contained moan falling from Dan’s mouth with just the smallest of Phil’s touches. The boy is so responsive, and the whole room is almost spinning before Phil’s eyes.

“Drawer’s over there, second to top drawer, condoms are in there too,” Dan rushes with his words, almost mashing them together, and Phil smiles, happy with how desperate he’s made the boy.

He climbs off Dan and takes the few steps to the drawers, going deliberately slowly. He wasn’t quite telling Dan the truth earlier - at this point, he’s probably just as needy as Dan is, and there’s no way that he would be able to just leave Dan, but he’s loving the way that Dan squirms as he waits impatiently, and he adores the way that Dan reacts to every teasing motion.

He slides open the drawer and pulls out the small bottle followed by a little foil packet. He turns the bottle over in his fingers as if inspecting it, purposefully taking far more time than necessary, until he hears a groan from the bed.

“Get over here right now and fuck me or I swear Phil, I swear,”

“You swear what, Dan?” Phil says, adopting the same low voice from earlier. The brunette just shakes his head, shooting Phil a look of pure desperation, and Phil really can’t refuse that.

He clambers back onto the bed, but this time sits further back on Dan’s legs. It gives him the room he needs to finally pull off Dan’s boxers, discarding the cloth to the side of the bed. Once he has done that, he takes a moment just to stare.

Dan’s hair, usually straightened half to death, is curling at the edges, and his face is glistening with sweat. Everything is too warm, except the cold of Phil's thighs pressing against his own, the weight making his heart beat just a little faster.

“When’s the last time you did this?” Phil asks, a little softer than when he last spoke. He changes his position so that he’s sat between Dan’s legs. The younger unashamedly spreads them wide, exposing himself completely for Phil.

“Uh,” Dan lets out the low sound, his mind flashing back to the last time. The last time when he woke up to a familiar green eyed boy in his bed and a promise on his lips never to speak of it again, even though it wasn’t the first time, and back then he thought that it wouldn’t be the last. “A while,” is what he chokes out instead of that, and Phil nods, smiling at him warmly.

Slowly, almost to the point of teasingly, Phil squeezes a fair amount of the liquid onto his fingers and reaches one finger down. He gently runs it over Dan’s rim, the brunette exhaling sharply. Phil swears for a moment that the younger pushes down against his finger, but the movement is barely noticeable. Still, it tells him to go a little faster, and without much more hesitation, he pushes the first digit in.

He stills for a second, even though he’s pretty sure Dan could take more. It’s taking everything in him to not just go for it, but it’s more fun than he’d admit to watch Dan writhe around like this, to watch the younger bite down on his bottom lip as he tries to keep begs and whimpers in his throat.

Grinning wide enough to show the elongated teeth that Dan seems to have taken such a liking to, he pulls his finger out and pushes back in, except this time he adds a second finger. The shock makes Dan gasp, reaching out to latch onto whatever he can find. Phil keeps going, moving in and out, pulling his fingers apart and then pulling them out and pushing them back in again and it’s just such a rhythmic movement, and each time he moves he earns a reaction from the brunette, and each noise is tipping him closer and closer to the edge.

He’s pressing a third finger against Dan’s rim when the younger whines, shaking his head and straining against Phil’s grip on his wrists, despite having said he wouldn’t, because _fuck_. _Fuck_ , Phil’s taking far too long. “I’m ready, Jesus Christ, hurry up, please,”

“Are you sure?” Phil asks, and Dan’s forevent nod tells him all that he needs to know.

He pulls his fingers out in a swift motion, because he needs exactly what Dan does, and _soon_ , because he can already feel everything and Dan is so hot and responsive beneath him and, _god_ , it’s been a while.

He lets go of Dan’s wrists again, trusting the younger to restrain himself for the time it takes him to rip open the small packet with his teeth and roll the condom onto himself. He moans unashamedly at the small amount of contact, his hands cold and his cock pretty desperate after the lack of attention he’s gotten. For just a moment, he looks at Dan, at the way the younger is biting his lip and gazing at the ceiling to try and keep his concentration on not moving his hands.

“You’re really hot, Dan.” Phil mumbles as he leans over the brunette, hovering over him so that their chests are almost touching. Their lips ghost together for a moment, Dan’s warm breath a thrilling sensation against Phil’s lips, and Phil can see Dan shudder beneath him.

Any other time, Dan probably would have made a quick quip about how anyone is hot compared to Phil’s chilled skin, or how of course he’s hot, he’s Dan Howell after all, but Phil’s teeth nip gently underneath his jaw and take every word he has away. He feels Phil pressing against his rim, so _close_ yet so _far_ , and he makes a pathetic whining noise.

With anyone else, Phil thinks he probably would be able to control himself better, to keep teasing for just a little longer, but Dan is driving him insane, so he doesn’t wait any longer. He pushes his tip past Dan’s entrance, drawing a sharp breath at the sudden heat. God, _god,_ it’s tight, and Dan’s so warm beneath him that he has to bite down on his lip to stifle the sound of appreciation that’s threatening to break from the back of his throat.

As he pushes in further, slowly, refusing to rush, he has to close his eyes to stop the room hurtling around him. He can feel so much that he’s dizzy, and not just the type of dizzy that follows spinning for merely a few seconds - the type of dizzy that makes a person wonder if their entire life has been turned upside down and all the way around. Dan’s febrile and tight and reactive and all he can focus on is the heat between his legs, the way that his senses have been thrown into overdrive, the way everything is magnified by what feels like a hundred times.

And it’s overwhelming, so overwhelming that Phil has to hold his breath, because there’s something a little more dangerous kicking in with the magnification of every sense. Feeling, instinct, _need_. It’s the same need that he woke up with when all he could hear was the steady beating of a sleeping Dan’s heart, it’s the same instinct that he tried to keep at bay when his teeth were in Dan’s arm and the younger’s blood was pooling into his mouth, and it’s the same feeling that he gets every time he does this.

The difference now is, though, that this is Dan. This isn’t some quick catch that he’s scored at some bar, this is _Daniel James Howell_ , whom he, despite himself, does care about. Dan has become the best friend that he’s had in years, _decades_ , and he’ll be damned if he’s going to go far enough so as to hurt him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard as he slides out of Dan slowly, gritting his teeth together to try and keep the temptation just to sink them into the side of Dan’s neck away. Without any warning, he thrusts back into Dan, pushing the younger up the bed a little and earning himself a little welp for his efforts.

He shuts his eyes, tight, and holds his breath, and that makes things easier. It’s easier to ignore the flush of the younger’s skin, it’s easier to ignore the scent on him, although he can’t ignore Dan’s heart beat, beat, beating in his ears and he can’t ignore how the man feels underneath him, how each sound pulses through him like an electric current.

And Dan, well, Dan’s gone, a mess of incoherent swearwords and brown curls and need, a need that Phil can practically smell on him. This is it, this is what he wanted that night, and as he arches his back into Phil’s contact, there’s a little flash in his scrambled logic that tells him, _god_ , it was worth the wait. Phil is cool against the heat of Dan’s flesh, and it’s soothing, if a little jarring when Phil rocks his hips again.

The vampire repeats this motion, picking up speed as he searches for that one spot he knows will tip Dan closer to his limit. And when he finds it, the sound that leaves Dan’s mouth is truly obscene, enough to make even Phil’s face heat up. Dan squeezes his eyes shut, biting on his lower lip to try and contain the sounds that want to follow.

“Want you to bite me,” he mumbles before he can catch it, his throat sore and his words barely audible, but he knows Phil hears them because he stills completely for just a moment. “Want you to do it properly, fuck, Phil, _please_."

“No.” Phil croaks, burying his face in the crook of Dan’s neck as he keeps moving his hips. His lips hover over a small patch of skin, lips slightly parted and teeth so close to brushing against the ever so tempting expanses of flesh.

He stands by his answer, though. He doesn’t allow himself to do it, he simply breathes in deeply, drinking in the scent and trying to ignore the burning need. Need, yes, because _Oh God_ , does he need to bite Dan right now. But he _can’t_. He simply _can’t_ , and he _won’t_.

That’s easier said than done when Dan lets out a whimper, tilting his head to the side and trying to expose even more skin to the vampire. Phil shakes his head, almost gagging at how overwhelming everything is right now, and turns so that he’s facing away. He wishes that he could keep watching the way that the sweat makes Dan’s hair stick to his face, the way that Dan’s mouth is just open and the way that Dan’s eyes dart about madly.

“Please. Please, please. I need it, Phil,” that same voice is back, the one that begs in such a tone it’s practically impossible for Phil to resist. He can feel himself approaching his high, and he knows that if he can just put off the need to sink his teeth right into Dan’s neck for long enough, then he won’t do something that he’ll certainly regret.

The moan that falls from Dan’s lips next though makes it unbearable. As the younger comes, spilling onto his own stomach, coming without even being touched and arching his back and practically _screaming_ , Phil has to do _something_. He pulls up an arm, still rhythmically pounding into Dan, the slapping of the flesh every time his hips meet Dan’s arse a harsh sound compared to Dan’s moans. Barely thinking, he digs his teeth into his own arm instead, grimacing at the taste.

He feels himself shake and lose his pace as he starts to come undone too. His head is reeling, his teeth still locked deep within the flesh of his arm, and he lets himself go.

By the time he’s finished, Dan is whining that it hurts. The second he’s aware enough to hear it, the faint buzzing in his ears fading, he pulls out, falling down next to his friend. The sounds of before have all fizzled, leaving nothing but the heavy panting of the brunette as he too comes to his senses.

“Why the hell would you ask me to do that?” Phil whispers, holding his arm up to inspect any damage. It’s nothing that won’t heal, he knows that, but he shouldn’t have had to have done it. The bottom of his stomach boils a little as he clenches both his fists and looks over at Dan.

Dan’s cleaning himself up, using a sock from somewhere to wipe himself down. He grimaces at his own work, dreading having to wash that later. When he manages to register Phil’s words, his grin falls.

“I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry, Phil.”

“Don’t be. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have even kissed-”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts, throwing the sock away and shifting so that he’s lying on his side. He reaches out to take one of Phil’s hands, lips pricking back up into a smile, “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do. It was great, okay? Really great. Like, can I let you in on a secret? That might just be the best sex I’ve had in a long time.”

The small sense of pride that swells up in the pit of his stomach, replacing the simmering rage, is stupid, really. Phil knows it’s not exactly through anything of his own will that Dan enjoyed it - sex is kind of half the point of vampires.

“By that, of course, I mean that I haven’t had sex in a long time, not that you’re good at it,”

“You prick,” Phil growls, slapping Dan’s bare stomach with one hand. The younger screeches, curling in on himself and hiding his stomach with his hands. Phil frowns. “What, are you ticklish or something?”

“Fuck off, don’t you dare, don’t you even bloody dare,”

“I’m not. I’m just saving that snippet of knowledge for later.” Phil adds a wink at the end, and Dan’s laugh rings through the room loudly.

Dan’s just opening his mouth to say something else when he hears it. The unmistakable sound of his doorbell, followed promptly by banging on his door. He freezes, glancing over at Phil. The pair of them are still goddamn _naked_ \- this is not the best time for someone to decide to break into his apartment.

“Fuck. Who the hell is that?” Phil murmurs, keeping his voice down.

There it is again, three consecutive pounds on his door, making a kind of sickening rhythm. Dan tries to sit up, pushing himself with shaking hands, and quickly crawls to the other end of the bed so that he can better hear whatever noise is coming from the door.

“Dan, I swear to God if you do not open this door I’m going to fucking break it down,”

And the voice, well, it’s one that Dan knows better than the back of his hand. It’s the voice of the one person that is certainly worse than a burglar, or a serial killer, or a vengeful vampire, or a combination of all three banging on his door when he’s still in bed, naked, with no one other than Phil Lester.

_PJ Liguori._

**_End of Part One_ **

 

 


	2. Like The Man I Know I'm Not

There's an old saying that consciences are always heavier than egos. Dan isn't sure that's true in the case of PJ Liguori. In fact, Dan's half convinced that PJ doesn't even have a conscience sometimes; he doesn't think that there can be any other explanation for his ruthlessness, for his constant need to always be right.

But then again, perhaps that's just the weight of his conscience talking. Or, maybe, PJ is just a persistently irritating asshole who takes too much interest in affairs that are not his own.

Right now, Dan _wishes_ that PJ had no conscience, or any concern for others at all. Whatever it is that led PJ to his door right now, he wishes that it didn't exist, because this certainly isn't a scenario that he wants to explain to his friend, not that he'd probably get much chance to explain himself.

He knows little about hunters. What little knowledge he has is gained from both the half an hour he spent in that meeting before having to leave for the sake of his own sanity , and the small tidbits or information that Phil has let slip. Even so, it's enough to know that PJ would mostly likely have a stake In Phil's chest before a single question was asked. And frankly, Dan does not want to have to deal with either losing his friend or the inevitable task of having to clean blood out of his cream carpets.

"Shit," he grumbles, trying to scramble off the bed but ending up entwined in the bed sheets. He crashes to the floor, his head slamming back and making a rather ugly sound. He groans but doesn't allow himself any time to recover, instead immediately starting to struggle with the sheets to try and stand up.

Somehow he manages it, and his eyes immediately fall on a rather incredulous looking Phil. The vampire opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but there's another round of pounding against the door, and Dan interrupts him before he can, "Fuck. Hide. Get in the closet, whatever, I don't care, just do not let him see you,"

"Is that a gay joke, Daniel Howell?"

Despite raising an eyebrow, Phil does as he's told, standing up without any apparent concern for the fact that he's wearing absolutely nothing. He goes straight for the aforementioned closet, climbing in and waiting a moment before closing the door, watching Dan curiously. The brunette is grabbing whatever clothes he can find on the floor and tugging them on haphazardly, not taking the time to realise that he just put a shirt on inside out.

Dan turns around and sees Phil still visible and hisses something about 'closing that god damn door or I swear to god I will murder you myself', which simply makes Phil chuckle and bring the door to a close.

Once he's sure that Phil is sufficiently hidden, he ruffles his hair up a little and starts to half-run down his hallway. He catches a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror and _dear god_ it's obvious that he's just had sex, but he has no time to fix himself up a little better before there's more hammering, and if he doesn't let PJ in soon then his landlord is going to have a fit at the sight of a broken down door.

"Y'know," he begins as he opens the door, "You could just be a normal person and like, ring me, or _actually ring the fucking buzzer_ or something. How did you even get in?"

"Your neighbour buzzed me in," PJ says, his tone slightly dark. "I didn't bother buzzing for you because who the fuck knewif you were alive to actually answer the door or not? You don't think that I tried calling you a thousand and one times before I came down here? Your phone's off, I thought that you'd-"

"Let me guess, been eaten by a vampire? Yes, PJ, because I am stupid enough to invite a vampire into my own home and let them bite me," Dan says evenly, crossing his arms and leaning against his door frame.

PJ narrows his eyes and puckers his lips slightly. Without a single word, he pushes past Dan and charges straight into the flat, heading straight for Dan's room.

"Oh, Jesus, PJ, it was a joke dude. I haven't actually got a vampire in here," his voice holds strong, keeping that same cocky edge to it that it always has, but Dan can hear his own heart speed up a little faster, he can feel the blood pumping in the ends of his fingers and in the tips of his ears. All he can do, he knows, is pray that Phil is still in that closet, and that he's keeping quiet.

"Why the fuck was your phone off? I was worried as hell, Dan. You ran off during the meeting, and then I barely saw you, and then you practically disappeared off the face of the earth for a week. Like, would it kill you to plug your charger in? Would it really?"

"Well, possibly. I mean, I'm so unfit that the effort probably could have caused me to have a heart attack,"

"I'm being fucking serious, you asshole," PJ half-growls, and Dan would be laughing if it weren't for how dangerously close PJ is to his wardrobe, and how he can see the door moving a little as Phil probably squirms about.

"Hey, Peej, fancy a beer?" He croaks just as PJ's eyes settle on the door of his closet.

"A beer. Dan, it's like, eight in the morning,"

"Never too early for alcohol, right? Come on," he grabs PJ's wrist, easily wrapping his fingers around it and pulling the man out of the room. His kitchen is only around the corner, barely away from Phil, but Dan thinks that it's at least a somewhat safer distance.

It's early, even for him, to be drinking, but all he can think about as he decides against the beer and pulls out the vodka instead is that he _really_ needs a drink. In the space of twenty four hours he's had a half-dead vampire show up at his doorstep, been bitten by said vampire, been fucked by the same vampire who it just so happens is his best friend, and then PJ 'I-hunt-vampires-for-kicks-because-I-can't-get-laid' Liguori turns up with probably every intent on murdering either Dan or whatever intruder has held Dan captive. And somehow he's managed to get through all of it without a drink, which he thinks is a feat of strength in itself.

He reaches for the coke, ignoring the pricking of hairs on the back of his neck. Of course, PJ is watching him closely, waiting for him to slip, for him to reveal whatever mystery that PJ thinks Dan is concealing.

"You look..." PJ begins, and Dan stops, his hand just curled around the coke bottle. He freezes, waiting. He knows that he looks fucked out, and he knows that PJ knows _exactly_ what that looks like. "You look..."

Dan grits his teeth, his grip around the bottle tightening. "Fucked? Yeah, you'd know that well, wouldn't you."

"Daniel fucking Howell-"

"PJ. I'm kidding," Dan says with a smile, ignoring the twinge in his stomach at the lie. "One night stand with a girl I met down at a bar. She left before I woke up."

"Right." PJ says breathily, averting his gaze away from Dan's eyes and down to his hands.

Frowning, PJ reaches forward. His hand goes straight for Dan's arm and grips it. Face contorted with confusion, he forces the hand upwards, holding it up so that the two small puncture marks are visible to both of them.

It hurts Dan to swallow the lump in his throat. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and sucks in a sharp breath, forcing the corners of his lips to prick up.

"What?" He asks, trying to appear indifferent to the stare that is making him feel slightly sick. All thoughts of his drink are long abandoned as he looks down at the mark himself, the slight swelling and the reddened skin all glaring indicators of the night before.

"Where did you get this?"

Dan raises his eyes away from the wound and looks up over PJ's shoulder as he racks his brain for an answer, for anything that'll keep PJ off the trail.

What he sees, however, isn't the flawless excuse that he's looking for, but rather the exact opposite. Phil, walking down the hall whilst still tugging on skinny jeans, his hair sticking up in all places.

It's as if the vampire catches Dan's disbelieving stare because he stops, looks up and mouths something that Dan can't make out. Before Dan gets any time to even attempt to say something back, PJ is making to turn around.

"A dog." He blurts out. It's the first thing that he thinks of, and he knows that it's the worst excuse possibly ever conceived, but at least it stops the turning of PJ's head as the man turns back round with sceptically raised eyebrows.

"A dog?"

"Yeah, a dog. I was just minding my own business, walking through the park down the road, and this fucking dog comes up to me and bites me," he averts his gaze from PJ for just a fraction of a second, just enough time to see Phil shoot him a dirty glance before scurrying off down the corridor.

"Doesn't look like a dog bite to me. Did you get it checked out?"

"Oh yeah, of course. What do you take me for, PJ?" Dan says with a forced grin. He pays no attention to the unamused look on PJ's face, instead turning back around and continuing to make his drink.

"Okay, fine. If you're sure you're okay? Don't go out and randomly pick up girls Dan, you're asking for trouble. Be careful, yeah?"

"What, because of all the vampires that obviously want in my pants?"

Dan swears that he sees a flicker of a smile, just for a moment or two, at his comment. The old stoic face is soon back, though, and PJ sighs, shaking his head.

"Look, just turn your fucking phone on, alright? I've got to go, I just wanted to check you were okay,"

"Oh, that's it then?" Dan calls after PJ as the green eyed man starts to walk away. "You're just gonna leave me here, at the mercy of all the vampires who want to sleep with me? You're just going to leave me here to die?" The fake whining noises make PJ stop just to flip him off before continuing down the hallway.

Dan takes a gulp of the drink as he waits for the front door to slam shut and indicate that PJ is gone. The familiar burning sensation at the back of his throat is soothing as the sound rings out through the apartment, leaving just him and Phil. Wherever the hell Phil is, anyway.

He brings the glass into the living room, guessing that Phil probably came in here to find the shoes that Dan took off whilst he was unconscious.

Sure enough, Phil is there, a look of utter concentration on his face as he ties the loops. He doesn't hear come into the room, and Dan doesn't alert him, instead just leaning against the door frame and watching Phil closely. When the elder is just about finished, Dan draws in a shaky breath and forces out,

"Is that it then?"

"What?"

There's a moment of silence, a rarity between the two of them, and Dan wishes that the world would implode right now and just create some damn _noise_. He doesn't do silence very well, but it doesn't seem like the kind of situation where it's appropriate to throw out a crude remark.

"Well, how it goes is that you leave a fake phone number and then-"

"Dan, I'm not leaving. What gave you that idea?"

"You- you were putting your shoes on?" Dan stammers, feeling the tips of his ears flush a little.

"Yeah? I was actually about to make you breakfast, I wasn't going to leave,"

"Breakfast?" Dan takes a step back as he says it, slightly scared that either he’s the main item on the breakfast menu - or more likely - that Phil's going to cook him some weird shit with a human blood filling. Not that he's a fussy eater, but he pretty much draws the line at blood.

"Well, I _was_ going to, until you called me a dog." Phil pouts, crossing his arms.

"I wasn't calling _you_ a dog. It was just an excuse, you twat,"

"Yeah, but _I'm_ the one who bit you and then you told him that a dog had bitten you. I mean, really, I don't think that kind of behaviour warrants me sharing some of my exquisite cooking skills with you."

"Phi-il, don't be an arse," Dan groans, walking forward and slapping Phil's arm lightly. The vampire laughs, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"You don't object to pancakes, do you?" Phil asks with a grin.

-

"This is like some cheesy American TV show," Dan grumbles as he sits at the breakfast bar, watching Phil cook. Once he'd been convinced that he wasn't going to be fed any kind of blood (Phil informed him, with a slightly offended air, that he wasn’t "Hannibal fucking Lecter"'), he'd of course agreed to have Phil cook for him (mostly out of laziness, to be honest). No matter what qualms he'd initially had, Dan has to admit that the food smells _great_ , and he knows full well that if Phil weren't cooking for him then he'd probably be eating three year old cereal right now.

Phil shrugs. He keeps a smile on his face as he watches the pancakes cook carefully, having already gotten plates next to him ready. Dan mumbles something about how he can't watch TV like this and he doesn't know why Phil has insisted on eating in the kitchen. Phil rolls his eyes.

"You know, before I was turned, I used to have dinner with a family close to ours all the time. We didn't have TV, Dan, we had to actually _talk_ as we ate,"

"You sound like my grandma." Dan blows his fringe out of his face in frustration, becoming increasingly fidgety at having to sit still for so long. "The thing is," he continues, swinging backwards on his stool, "she'd then say 'it's rude to talk whilst you eat, Daniel!'"

"I think she meant more that it's rude to talk when your mouth is stuffed with food, smart arse." Phil laughs, transferring the first pancake from pan to plate. He pours more batter into the pan and turns around, leaning against the counter. "It's fun, talking at meal times. I had many philosophical debates over dinner, to be honest. And it's a great way to get to know someone,"

"Yeah but you're like, what, two hundred years old?"

"One hundred and eighty seven, I'll have you know. Are you saying I look old?" Phil jests, turning back around to flip the pancake.

"Well, no, but- One hundred and eighty seven, really? That means you were born in like, what, 18-"

"1827,"

"Holy fuck, you are _ancient_. You're like a fossil, like a full on dinosaur. And you're bloody shorter than me. So you're a fossil, and you're still short, what the fuck even are you?"

Phil snorts indignantly. "Thanks Dan."

He puts the second pancake on the plate and starts another. "Hang on," Dan begins, and Phil looks up from his cooking, "does that mean that you lived through both world wars? And the Cold War?"

Phil is silent for a moment. Eventually, he replies with a seemingly carefully chosen, "Yeah,"

"What was it like?"

"Well. I couldn't fight, if that's what you're getting at. I was basically in hiding. Still am, really. It kinda felt shit that I couldn't help defend my country not because I didn't want to, but because I physically couldn't. As far as the country is concerned, of course, I'm dead. And I'd died almost a hundred years prior. And the sun thing wouldn't exactly have helped with fighting or training,"

"Yeah, I suppose. Still, living through all of that, it must have been cool,"

"That's not the word I would use," Phil says with a slight flinch, mind wandering from the pancakes. For the briefest of seconds, he remembers the sirens, remembers how that feeling of _I am going to die now_ visited him over and over again, only to somehow end and be repeated.

He shudders.

The pancake is finished, and he puts that on a second plate for himself. He has plenty of mix left to make Dan more for later, so for now he just settles on sprinkling sugar over them (apparently Dan doesn't have any syrup) and carrying them over to the breakfast bar.

"Woah, thanks," Dan says with an appreciative smile as his breakfast is put in front of him. Remembering the few manners that his grandmother managed to actually get through to him, he waits until Phil has sat down with him before he starts eating.

Tucking in, Dan is aware of Phil's eyes on him as he takes a mouthful on his fork and half-shovels it into his mouth. He becomes acutely aware of the fact that the poshest thing he's eaten in front of Phil has been fish and chips, which they ate without cutlery and straight from the paper wrappers, and his table manners do leave a lot to be desired. Considering the time that Phil's from, he's probably got better manners than the Queen, and Dan can't help but feel slightly self conscious and wish that he'd actually paid attention to his grandma.

"What was it actually like? Living in your time, I mean. Surely it can't all have been like a Jane Austen novel?"

"Well, I mean, for me, I guess it kind of was." Phil says with a small smile. Dan can't quite place the emotion behind it, but it somehow makes his stomach twist a little. "I mean, maybe it was even a little more idyllic than Jane Austen. My parents both lived for a long time, till they were both in their eighties. My family was relatively wealthy too, and I had a large estate entailed to me. I was an only child though, which was of course unusual. But I mean, I wasn't lonely, ever. I had plenty of friends, and there was a family that lived in the same spot of land as us that I half-lived with. There were five kids, both parents and a grandparent, too, in their house. It was always busy."

Phil stops suddenly, almost as if becoming aware of Dan's presence. He bows his head, looking down at his own plate and mumbling, "Sorry, I don't want to chew your ear off with this crap."

"No, Phil. I want to know. Tell me, I promise it won't bore me or anything," Dan reassures with a smile. Phil doesn't say anything, so Dan tentatively lifts a hand up and places it over Phil's clenched one.

The black haired man looks down at their hands. Dan's touch is warm, almost boiling against his skin, but it's not uncomfortable as he expects. No, somehow, in fact, it works almost perfectly.

Phil looks up.

"There were five of them, but they were all a lot older than me apart from one. There was a five year age gap between me and the youngest of her brothers, and she was younger than me. And we became, well, pretty natural friends, I guess. I spent a lot of time with her. There were gardens behind her house where we used to play, we had little secret coves where the others wouldn't disturb us. Over time we were practically inseparable. It never occurred to us, really, that she was a girl and I was a boy, because it didn't seem to matter. She didn't really care that she should have been learning French and learning how to sew and practising her piano, and similarly I didn't care that I should have been focussing on my studies too.

"I was sort of, well, too naive to realise what our behaviour would have led our parents to plan for us. But to be honest, it didn't matter. Neither family was going to press the issue until we were actually a couple of years older than when it actually happened, and it had started years before that. I was, what, just sixteen, so she was fifteen. And I'm sure you can guess what I was getting at. I was incredibly awkward, of course. I didn't stop blushing for a whole hour after she kissed me on the cheek, and she didn't stop laughing at me about that until, well. I guess until the end..." For a moment, Phil trails off. His eyes dance around for a moment before he arches his neck, looking up at the ceiling.

"She was the one who organised a trip to Paris, to see Chopin. She adored him, and to be honest I don't think I've ever seen her happier than I did when she listened to that man play. She held my hand throughout half of it. And I think my biggest regret is not having seen her smile like that during our wedding,"

"Wait, you didn't get married?" Dan interrupts, breaking Phil out of his reverie. Phil's gaze returns to him, a look of hazy confusion on the elder's features for just a moment.

"No. I didn't even get to ask her. Honestly, we left it really late. We wanted to wait, even though we didn't have to, and most people thought we were insane for leaving it as long as we did. I guess they were right, in the end."

Phil looks back up at the ceiling, and Dan frowns. It's a look that he's seen many times, but the one time that springs to mind was the tenth anniversary of his grandfather's death. His grandma had looked up just as Phil does now, her eyes sparkling slightly, soft yet somehow pained, a sweet yet somehow bitter smile painted across her features. It was as if, he had thought even back then, she was looking for someone who she had heard call her name, but then she couldn't see them when she turned to say their name back.

"What was her name?" He blurts out without even thinking, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He looks away from the ceiling and back at Dan, a wider grin spreading over his face.

"Beth. I mean, Elizabeth, but she was Beth. My Beth."

After just a few seconds, Phil swallows and shakes his head with a quiet laugh. Dan watches him rub his eyes, almost as if he were trying to hide tears, and finds himself, for once, at a total loss of what to say.

"God, sorry Dan. I just don't think I've ever actually spoken about her to anyone. I certainly haven't said her name to anyone else since I was turned. God. Sorry, that's enough about me. Tell me, do you have any good love stories that could come right out of a bad romance novel or?"

"Phil, my love life is about as alive as you are." Dan quips before he thinks about it. Phil snorts and shakes his head, leaning back so that the two front legs of his stool aren't on the ground. "Like, honestly, the most exciting thing that's happened to me in years is when I got a designer shirt in a sale."

"Jesus, you really have your priorities straight, don't you?"

"Well, they're the straightest thing about me," Dan adds a ridiculously obnoxious wink at the end and Phil swears that he chokes on the air at the comment. He has to reach out and grip the counter as he laughs so much that he almost tips the stool backwards and Dan bursts out laughing at the look on the elder's face.

"Oh, well I'm not straight either, so that works out well," Phil says with a grin after he's managed to get his laughing under control. He expects Dan to start laughing too, but instead he turns to face Phil with a total deadpan expression.

"Oh yeah? Why is that, Phil?" Dan asks, and Phil knows the second it's said where Dan's going with it.

"Well, because you're pretty hot and we have lots of time to waste."

"Yeah? Well, what if I want more breakfast?"

"You can have me for breakfast." Phil says with a sly wink, and Dan's lips twitch, as if he's about to start laughing.

Instead, though, two hands latch onto the front of his T-shirt, and he finds himself being pulled in for a kiss.

-

"Hey Phil," Dan chirps as he leans over the back of the couch. His face ends up right in front of Phil's, interrupting whatever video game he's playing, and the elder groans.

"Fuck, Dan, move your head or- I swear to god, I was finally going to beat that, I actually hate you,"

"No you don't, let's be honest here, you _at least_ like my dick quite a lot." Dan smirks playfully, climbing over the back of the sofa and ending up falling face first onto the carpet. He yelps, squealing for help, but Phil simply crossed his arms.

"If you're going to make jokes about your dick every time I say anything to you then I'm just going to leave." He grumbles with little conviction, and Dan twists his head round so that he's just about facing the elder.

"No, you won't, I have an xbox." Dan states simply.

He somehow manoeuvres himself so that he's back on his feet, and then he throws himself down next to Phil on the sofa. Phil grunts in agreement, and Dan grins as he adds, "I also have my dick and you wouldn't want to deprive yourself of that now, would you?"

"For fucks sakes, Dan, I'm actually going to-"

"What was it like being turned?" Dan interrupts.

Phil freezes. He catches his breath in his throat and just holds his stare, unblinking.

He has no idea where that came from, and it makes him almost want to be sick at the thought of Dan contemplating being turned. Simply because Dan doesn't _understand_. He doesn't understand what it means, he doesn't understand the consequences, and he certainly doesn't understand the immediate pain of it. God, Phil blacked most of it out because he just couldn't handle it. He remembers little of it apart from that searing pain, the feeling that his whole body was being burnt from the inside out as his chemistry was reworked, as he effectively _died_ and was dragged all the way back into life.

Half of him thinks that Dan is kidding and that he should just laugh the question away. But then there's the look on Dan's face, the all too sincere curiosity that leaves Phil breathless. Why Dan should want to know this, he doesn't know. Why Dan would even think about this, he doesn't know. He doesn't think he wants to know.

"What?" Is all he manages to croak out, his throat dry. Dan settles back into the couch, shrugging his shoulders. A strand of hair is flicked from his eyes.

"I was just wondering what it was like is all. And like, I wanted to ask you before we went off on a tangent and I forgot what I'd come in here to ask you in the first place."

"Uhm," Phil begins, wondering for a split second if there's bliss in ignorance. He certainly thinks that he'd rather be ignorant of more than a few things that have happened in his life. "It hurts, I guess? Like, really hurts. I don't know, why does it matter?"

"I was just thinking, would you ever turn me?"

"What the fuck? No, of course not, why would you even ask that?" The vampire exhales shakily, pushing a hand through his hair. "Holy shit Dan, when I say it hurts, it's fucking excruciating. Most people don't survive being turned purely because of the pain, the body just gives out. It's dangerous as hell and it's probably pretty much the worst pain fucking imaginable," His voice is a nonsensical ramble, straining with desperation. The idea of _him_ himselfdoing that to Dan _definitely_ makes him want to throw up.

"But like, isn't it kinda cool being a vampire? I mean, you can't really complain of living a dull circumstance, can you? And like, the whole immortal thing."

"Dan. The chances are that you would die. I've only seen about thirty people be turned in all of my time, and three of them survived. I wouldn't risk it, I wouldn't even think about it, okay? Get it out of your head," Phil snaps, slightly panic stricken.

"Well, that's still a one in ten chance. Say I was dying, like actually dying, and being turned was my only chance. Would you do it then?" Phil just stares at Dan, barely able to believe what he's hearing. His mouth hangs slightly open and he shakes his head.

"No. I couldn't do it, Dan. I couldn't. You'd rather be dead, trust me."

"No, I won't take that. I'd rather be alive and deal with some pain than be dead." Phil shakes his head, and he's about to protest, but Dan is stood up before he can.

The brunette goes to head out the door, but Phil reaches forwards and grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"Tell you what, Dan." He says through gritted teeth, not able to look up and face Dan, "if you're ever dying, give me a call, okay?"

Dan smiles, almost as if he's won a game, or a bet, as if he's outsmarted Phil.

“Don’t look so smug, jackass,” Phil grumbles, even though he’s smiling just a little as he relinquishes his hold on Dan’s arm. He grabs a dishcloth from the counter and tosses it in his direction. “I don’t know what you’re grinning about, anyway. Before anyone’s getting turned, it’s your turn to do the dishes.”

And he can’t hold in a laugh as Dan squeaks at the sudden motion, as he fumbles to catch the wet cloth before it falls on the floor, as he begins to whine about how close Phil came to getting his shirt wet.

-

Orange is not her most subtle colour choice. Of course, she's had worse (her neon green phase is something that she certainly does not ever want to discuss with anyone; it took her a lot of threats to get Chris to shut up about it), but the expression on PJ's face when he saw it is something she'd quite like framed on her wall.

She turns another corner. She's been on his trail for _days_ , following him whenever she could, but he loses her every time. Honestly, she has no idea how he manages to do it, considering the fact that being a six foot two tall vampire isn't exactly a good way to be subtle, but he always does, and he always does it in the same spot.

But today, she's one step ahead of the game.

She's chosen a different spot to watch him from. It's across the street, sheltered from view of the vampire by the walls of the buildings surrounding. She steps lightly into the slight darkness and bends down, reaching for the stake secured in the side of her boot (oddly enough, carrying a wooden stake around in plain view in the middle of London isn't exactly the best way to remain inconspicuous).

Holding her breath, she waits. He's late, she thinks. Typical, really. The one day she has a good plan is the one day where he doesn't hold up his own end of the bargain.

He usually makes his way down here just after the sun goes down, always with his hands at an odd angle in his pockets and his head held high. Where he's going, she has no clue, but she hopes that tonight is the night she finally finds out. At least then they might have some idea what the rest of the vampires are doing, and with the situation they're in right now, they really need some kind of concrete information.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she tightens her grip around the smoothed edges of her stake. Slightly restless, she bobs forward on her toes and blows her fringe out of her face, taking her eyes off the pavement for maybe two seconds.

When her gaze returns, however, there he is. She catches her breath in her throat, staring as he walks past.

The advantage of this spot is that instead of being behind him, she's now in front. Instead of his next turn being blocked from her view, she watches him as he makes his way, turning round into the next street.

His choice makes her frown. She knows that route well, having taken it a few times herself. She knows where those roads lead.

Shaking the thought away, she pads forwards, keeping her footsteps as quiet as she can. Her fingers are holding the wood so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Whilst she doesn't want to kill him (he can't be of any use to them when he's dead), she knows that she might have to. And he's bigger than her; she would only have the element of surprise on her side. She has to be ready.

Another turn. Another _familiar_ turn. Her stomach turns uneasily and her starts start to beat a little faster as he keeps heading in the same direction, heading straight towards the one person that would be stupid enough to associate with a damned vampire.

They're on the right street before she knows it, and she can't help but let her jaw drop open when she sees him march right up to the door of none other than Daniel Howell's apartment block.

"Fuck," she breathes out when the vampire walks straight in, probably going straight to Dan’s apartment.

God, PJ had told her that Dan tried to pick up a leech but- But they told him, they told him what these people were capable of. That was meant to stop Dan, to stop him getting himself killed at the cold, dead hands of some vile creature on the street, or worse, being turned into one of them.

She glances up at the floor she knows Dan is on, marked out by the singular pair of black curtains with some odd pattern on them that she's never been able to figure out. They twitch shut and she frowns, half of her head trying to convince her that Phil could be going into any apartment, that he could somehow live in one if them, that it could all just be a coincidence. But then there's the other half of her, the half that knows from experience that coincidence is simply an invention made by men who do not want to accept responsibility or look for further meaning. Coincidence is a product of cowardice, and if there is one thing that she is not, it's a coward.

She waits. She's not stupid; she's not going to go crashing into Dan's apartment, there's no way that she'd win in a straight up fight against this vampire. Her only chance is catching him when he's let his guard down, and she knows that that'll be when he leaves.

By the time that the door opens across the street, she's half asleep, her head falling against the wall of the alley beside her. The clicking of the door sends a jolt through her, snapping her right back into consciousness, and she tightens her loosening grip on that stake again.

She watches, curiously, as the vampire takes a moment to fiddle with his hair, trying to put it right. To her, it distinctively looks as if someone else has had their fingers in it, but she pushes that thought right out of her mind. Even Dan Howell isn't that stupid.

She doesn't have another moment to wait. With no more hesitation, she steps out from her hiding place, marching straight across the road and at the black-haired man. He's facing away from her, giving her just the edge that she needs. Her heart thuds loudly in her ears, and she knows that if she can hear it then he can hear it too, and it makes her break out into a run, half-lunging herself at him.

He turns.

He turns, and he grips her arm before she has a chance to get it around his neck. She cries out, anguished, as he twists it around, the pain forcing her hand to release the grip on the stake. It falls, almost as if it were in slow motion, and clatters to the ground. The sound that rings out sends her stomach plummeting.

"Fuck," she breathes out, much more exasperated than before. She can see the sharp points of the vampires teeth as he snarls, face curling up into an expression that she can't quite place. His eyes almost look like they're pulsing, the blue shocking against his skin tone.

Any second, she knows, teeth will be in her neck and she will be done. Futilely, she kicks out and pulls, trying to loosen his hold on her. For a split second, she thinks she's done it, but another arm snakes around her front and locks itself around her neck. There's no pressure I'm the grip, not really, but she knows that if he wanted to, he could probably snap her right in two.

"Emma! Phil, no!"

It's the same voice that she has cursed a thousand and one times, but the tone is completely different to its usual, irritatingly cocky and sarcastic edge. She stops struggling, just for a moment, and cranes her neck, gasping for breath when it ends up being crushed more by the strong arm around it.

"Dan? Care to explain what the fuck is going on here?" She breathes.

As soon as she has the words out, the vampires spins, tugging her along with him.

"You know her?" The voice has a slight northern lilt, an accent that feels out of place on these streets.

"Yeah. Let her go, Phil, she won't hurt you."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Emma growls, trying to tug away again. Her eye falls to the stake that's still on the ground, and she tries to pull towards it.

Dan must follow her gaze, because he gets there first. He bends and grabs it, holding it behind his back.

"Phil." Dan says again. It's not a plea, it's not a question. It's a simple word, and it hangs heavily between them in the silence, as if a single word would cut the rope it hangs by and send both of their worlds crashing down.

She gulps when the pressure releases. Hand flying to shield her throat, she falls to her knees, sputtering. Head spinning, she affords herself only a quick glance up to the two men standing above her, watching as Dan leans forward to whisper into the vampire's ear.

When the hand is offered to her, half of her doesn't believe it. If it were Dan's hand it wouldn't have been a shock - in fact, she probably would have chastised him if he didn't try to help her up. Instead, however, the hand is ghastly pale, the skin looking like it's been pulled just a little too thin over aged bones. She can see remnants of small scars across the inside of the palm and she shudders, shaking her head.

She pushes herself to her feet. She swears, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flicker of hurt across the vampire's face but god, she thinks, let him try to accept he helping hand of the person that just tried to kill them.

Perhaps it's curiosity that leads her feet forward towards Dan's apartment. Whatever it is, she curses it internally, wishing that she wasn't so stupid. It wouldn't take much to get her stake back from Dan, considering the fact that he can barely carry his own shopping home (she's had random calls from him more than once asking if she can come and help him), and then she'd have another attempt, no matter how futile.

Although it's certainly been a while since she was in this apartment, she swears that it was not this damn _dark_ the last time she was here. It's almost as if he whole place has been purposefully blacked out, and her stomach sinks when she realises why.

This definitely is not a one time thing.

"Right," she begins, eyes darting around the sitting room that Dan has guided them into. "Okay, so, Dan, explain to me why I shouldn't kill it right now,"

She nods sharply towards the vampire, who is almost cowering in one corner of the room. Not what she expected, sure, but certainly still keeping her on edge.

Dan clenches his fists. "Him,” he says, his voice too even and calm, so that Emma can hear a steady tremor in the sound. She’s not sure if she likes it, fuck, she _doesn’t_ , but there are more important things to be dealing with than uncharacteristic anger. “He's a _him_ , not an it."

"Fuck, Dan, it's not human. It's not like it cares about what fucking pronoun I use."

“Shut up.” The phrase bites, stings, the words are full of venom. “ _He’s_ as human as you or I. At least act like you give a shit about that.”

All Emma can do is look at him, look at the way his facial expression is neutral but the way his hands have curled, the knuckles white. All she can do is look at the way his eyes seem to have set themselves alight with an anger she rarely sees in Dan Howell, because she rarely sees Dan Howell get angry. And he’s wrong. She’s right, and he’s wrong, but for the sake of avoiding unnecessary conflict and wasting time she could be using to bring this to _anyone’s_ attention, she sighs, and nods stiffly. “Fine. _Him._ Explain to me why I shouldn’t kill _him_ right now.”

He opens his mouth. And then he closes it again.

Why? Why _shouldn’t_ she kill him on the spot? As far as she’s concerned, Dan knows this, as far as she’s concerned she has every reason and right. As far as she’s concerned, it must be the same as laying out rat poison, or using a fly swatter. Nothing more than vermin, nothing more than a pest. So why does the idea of her actually _doing_ it make his head spin, why does it feel like so much more than just another nuisance dealt with?

He knows why. Phil’s his _friend_. Looking past the incident at the start of everything, Phil has been coming and going for _months_ , and he never meant to make friends with something - _someone_ \- as dangerous as Phil, but that was before he realised just how wrong everything he’d been told was. Phil Lester is not dangerous, the same way that Emma is not understanding, the same way that Dan is not entirely sure what to say.

“We’re friends,” he ends up plainly stating, not looking the girl in the eye, pretending not to be so jarred by the scornful laugh that he hears from her.

“Friends, okay,” she snaps, and then sighs, bringing her hands to her face. “ _God_ , Dan, don’t you know how much _trouble_ you could have got yourself into? Are you _stupid_ , is that it?”

Dan frowns. He’s heard it all before, just through a few different mouths and tongues and voices. PJ. Phil. He doesn’t need _Emma_ doing this, too, so he simply nods, the gesture cutting through her words. “Yeah, whatever,” he drawls. “I know I’m fucking terrible and I know that I’m in a lot of trouble or something. I know I’m stupid as _shit_ to be doing this, because believe it or not, you aren’t actually the first to tell me that. And I know that this looks bad-”

“Just _looks_ bad?-”

“But I kind of need you to not tell PJ.”

"You want me to not tell PJ? Holy shit, Dan, what you're doing is so _dangerous,_ you can't expect me to let you get away with hanging out with this _thing_ all the time-"

"You know what, if you're going to talk about him, at least use his name."

Her jaw drops, incredulous. "His _name_? Are you shitting me?"

"It's Phil Lester, in case you didn't know-"

She throws her arms up into the air with exasperation, letting out a puff of air that she'd been holding in without thinking. "Listen, if you weren't so busy treating leech boy Lester over here like he's the second fucking coming of Jesus, then you'd realise how bad this actually is! He's a vampire, he's dead, he could kill you-"

"He's in the room." Phil mumbles from across the room, and her neck snaps around, eyes widening as if she'd forgotten that he was there at all.

"I don't give a shit! Literally, I couldn't care less. Whatever justification you have-"

"Em. Stop." Dan interrupts before she can continue on whatever rant she was setting up. Her hands drop to her sides, and she slowly allows herself to turn round to look at him again instead of Phil. "Phil, get out."

The command doesn't sound like it could come from the same lips that spend their time making cheap sexual innuendo and more than occasional offensive comments. It stays suspended in the air between them for a moment, filling the space, until Phil pushes it aside with his stride, pushing out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Emma, please. He's my _friend_. He's the first new friend I've made independent of you guys in a long time and-"

"Have you considered that's because you're a bit of a douche, Dan?"

"Does it even matter? Jesus, he's not going to hurt me." He insists, voice a half-growl. Emma can see the slight flush of his cheeks, the way that his hands uncurl for a moment, stretch, And then fold back up again. "Please, Em. He's not dangerous. He only does it because he has to. Are you telling me that you're any different? You eat, right? Something has to die for you not get your meat. And besides, you kill his kind all the time. There's no difference. Just let him be, I'll do anything for you. Please."

She crosses her arms. Shifting her weight to her left foot, she rolls her eyes, blowing her fringe out of her face with contempt. "The sex must be really good."

"What?!"

"Like, for you to be this passionate about him, I mean. I haven't seen you get this emotional over anyone that you weren't fucking around with." She states matter-of-factly, a slight mischievous grin slowly bleeding over her features.

Really, she knows that she should tell PJ. She still has half a mind to do so, but Dan isn't dead yet. From her experience, if a vampire is going to kill someone, they're going to do it fast and with no questions asked. And even if the idea of Dan being anywhere near this thing makes her skin crawl, she knows he's been happier lately. She's noticed it, of course. Noticed it along with the considerable amount of time he keeps to himself nowadays, but she'd just put that down to him being slightly freaked out by the prospect of the whole vampire-hunting-cult thing.

"Emma, you have it wrong, we're not-" But he stops himself. Because they _are_. They're not romantic - god no, that'd just be downright _odd_ \- but they certainly aren't what you would call one thousand percent platonic considering the numerous times that Phil has, quite literally, been deep inside Dan. "We're not like _that_." He amends, lowering his voice a little.

"Look, I don't really care as long as you're safe. But if I do this, then you owe me a _huge_ favour, Daniel Howell,"

"Like I say, anything." He pauses for a moment, bites the inside of his cheek, and then corrects himself, "Okay, almost anything. Like, don't ask me to shave my hair or whatever. Dear god, don't ask me for life advice or whatever because I don't want to get used and-"

"Get me information. On the vampires, I mean. Their location, their numbers, their strings. He'll know that, he has to. Vampires travel in packs, it's not safe for them to be alone. Chances are he still hangs around with the pack that turned him in the first place, so he'll probably be pretty loyal to them. It might take a bit of persuading to get him to say anything. But don't be an idiot and get yourself eaten, don't be as obvious about this as you are about everything else, for the love of god," she shifts her weight again, frowning when she notices that his eyes aren't on her face. "Daniel, are you even fucking listening? My eyes are up here, you moron."

"Shit, I, er-" Dan stammers, faintly recalling that time that he'd told Phil that he never got caught staring at girls' chests. It's not even that he's intentionally looking, his eyes just started wandering, and god, he barely thinks before spewing, "I wasn't looking at your boobs. I was looking at your heart."

With a faint smile, she leans forward and smacks him lightly, catching his ear. He squeals, ducking too late and losing his balance, toppling to the floor. Honestly, if they were in any other situation, if there wasn't the fact that there was a vampire quite literally looming outside of the door, then it probably would have ended up in one of their play fights (the ones which, much to the injury of Dan's pride, mostly end up with Emma pinning him down and declaring victory).

Instead though, she simply leaves him on the floor, towering over him with a hand on her hip. She pauses, opening her mouth as if testing words on her tongue. Then she shakes her head, presumably at herself, and speaks quietly.

"Just, just tell me one thing. Have you let him feed off you?" The question makes Dan flush hot in an instant, but as quick as he boils he freezes, his blood turning to stone in his veins.

He doesn't say a word. He usually has no qualms about lying, usually goes right ahead and say whatever the hell it wants when it suits him. But he's left it too long already, and even if he hadn't, somehow all excuses and all fabrications get stuck in the back of his throat, glueing it together tightly. She turns abruptly on her heel, shaking her head a little. Her hair falls over the front of her shoulders as she hangs her head. He swears that he hears a small sigh.

"Be damn careful. Please. You really don't know what you're getting yourself into, and I don't-" she hesitates for a moment, almost as if weighing the weight of her next few words, "I don't want what happened to Chris to happen to you, too. Because if nothing else, PJ won't survive it. Not again."

Before he even has a chance to formulate a reply, she starts to walk away.

-

It's pretty odd how easy it is to get what Emma wants.

Phil seems willing - _too_ willing, almost - to give up any and all information that Dan wants, and frankly the sly smile that Phil always seems to have on his face when he does it is starting to creep Dan out a little bit.

These are Phil's people. He shouldn't want to betray them. Surely, in fact, it should be quite the opposite, surely he should want to protect them and make sure that certain, brown-haired humans with vulgar senses of humour (and a friendship group that serves a dual purpose as a vampire hunting cult) don't find out everything there is to know about them.

But it's only been a couple of weeks and Dan knows almost everything that Emma wanted. They're a small group compared to most vampire packs, but that doesn't in any way means that his own friends have the strength to outmatch them. There's about thirty of them, Phil tells him one night when they're trying to backtrack and figure out how on earth they both went so badly wrong in Cluedo (something has to be wrong if both of them had crossed off all three of the actual answers).

Thirty vampires in just a small part of the city.

It scares him a little just how oblivious he's been to the danger right outside his doorstep. Occasionally, he'll sit there, staring at Phil, and wonder how he possibly could have invited that very same danger right into the warmth of his own home. He can't even blame his own naivety, not when he knew from almost the word go exactly what Phil is.

He rubs his hands together, hopping from foot to foot to try and warm himself up a little. It's freezing, and Dan's starting to remember why he never goes outside. Outside doesn't have air conditioning or central heating, so no matter what time of the year it is, you're pretty much always fucked.

He has no idea what's taking Emma so long, but he makes a mental note that if she doesn't arrive within the next five minutes, he's retreating back to his haven at home. If nothing else, he really needs to get some sleep before Phil arrives, and a cocoon of blankets sounds incredibly appealing right now.

Eyes trained on the he street, he watches. He can see the door which leads down into the hunters' basement, and wonders how no one has ever discovered them there. Even vampires cannot be stupid enough for the 'no entry' sign (and the suspicious presence of a cross on the brick next to the door) not to give it away.

"Come on, Em." He mutters to himself, watching the small cloud of air form before his eyes. It hangs there, suspended, for just a moment, before starting to dissipate, leaving his line of sight clear again.

"Fancy seeing you here." A sarcastic voice rings out, and he glances up with a slight smile.

"Yeah, total coincidence. It has nothing to do with the fact that you rang me up all like 'oh Dan, I need your help so that we don't all get our asses kicked by vampires, even though never once have I asked for your help with this before and in fact I didn't even tell you that we were hunters'."

"If you want me to go back in there and tell PJ about your little friend then go ahead, be sarcastic, you little fuck." She says it not without a slightly amused, rather infuriating gleam in her eye, and Dan frowns.

He hates being under her thumb like this, hates feeling like he’s treading on thin ice with every joke. Whilst he trusts that she’d keep to her word as long as he does, there’s always that feeling in the bridge of his nose whenever he talks to her now, as if his windpipe were being crushed by invisible hands.

“What did you find out then?” She asks, leaning against the wall next to Dan, her arms crossed.

“Uhm. Thirty of them, Phil says, give or take a couple. But they’re kind of scattered within the neighbourhood, not really working together very well in general except for when they’re threatened. Lots of territory disputes going on between them and the rest of the vampires,” Dan trails off for a moment, remembering how Phil had turned up at his doorstep, bleeding and seemingly half-dead all because of a stupid territory dispute. Turns out not even the undead can get along without murdering each other. “And they’re strong, he says. Like, really strong. They don’t have the best trust in each other but they can certainly work together when they need to and even if they weren’t, they’re clever and they have good resources. They also don’t have any kind of moral code, apparently.”

“What does that even mean? They’re fucking vampires, none of them have-” Emma begins, but Dan interrupts her quickly.

“They’re not like Phil, I mean. He says that they’re not like him. They kill people for fun not just for food or protection.”

She raises an eyebrow but seemingly decides to drop it as instead her head falls backwards so she’s looking up at the sky instead. She lets out a groan, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Right, so,” she starts, keeping her eyes trained upwards, “what you’re saying is that they’re stronger than us and they outnumber us?”

“Er, essentially-”

“Got any good news? Just so I can go back in there and not get murdered by PJ?”

“Well, I did find out _one_ thing,” he says, the corners of his lips creeping up into a sly smile. It piques her interest and she looks back down at him, pushing herself away from the wall. “I know where they are.”

-

There’s an unsettled feeling in his stomach as he walks through the door.

It’s as if the atmosphere is different than usual, as if the air hangs slightly heavier. Phil’s shoulders feel slightly crushed under the weight of it and he frowns, throwing his key onto the unit against the wall in the hall.

“Dan?” He calls out, slightly thrown by the lack of _any_ sound at all. There’s usually something, whether it be loud music from Dan’s speakers, slightly quieter notes from the piano, muffled voices on the TV or Dan swearing loudly at a video game. Silence in this apartment feels out of place, and his lips fall even further as he walks towards the living room, keeping his own footsteps quiet.

He was half-expecting Dan to be out (although, why Dan would be out at midnight he has no idea), but instead he finds the brunette sat where he usually is, his knees bent upwards and curled into his chest.

The way he’s sat is almost comical, looking like something out of an anime, but Phil doesn’t find a laugh bubbling at the back of his throat. Instead, his throat feels like it’s thickened a little, or perhaps like someone’s stuffed something down it whilst he wasn’t looking.

“Dan?” He asks again, a little quieter this time.

When Phil gets to the other side of the couch and looks at Dan’s expression, he half-expects Dan to tell him that he’s dying or something. That’d be a reasonable explanation for the pale complexion, the downturned mouth, the wide eyes.

“Phil, I have to tell you something,” the shaking in Dan’s voice makes Phil’s stomach churn, flipping in a way that’s far from pleasant. Before Phil gets a chance to say anything, Dan continues, “but like, you can’t eat me. Please promise not to eat me, I’d rather not die, honestly,”

“Dan, I’m not going to eat you-”

“Okay, just promise me, because I think that you might change your mind after I tell you this and-”

“Unless you like, ate all the food and spent all the money meaning that we can’t even order take out, I’m not going to eat you. And only then I’d eat you because I’d be damn hungry and it’d be your fault,” Phil smiles as he talks, trying to reassure Dan a little but in reality only accomplishing showing off the teeth that Dan seems to think Phil’s going to turn against him.

Dan’s leaping off the sofa before Phil even notices he’s moved. Phil turns abruptly to see the brunette starting to pace in that infuriating manner that’s woken Phil up in the night more than once.

Every time he’s asked about it, Dan tells him that it helps him think things through. Right now, it just seems to be working Dan up more, his agitation growing more apparently by the second. He’s wringing his hands together, his pace is heavier than usual, and there’s the tell-tale lip bite that Phil’s constantly scolding him for.

“Okay, right, well. Say I hypothetically sold your whole vampire clan thing out to my hunter friends, would you then want to eat me?”

 _Oh_.

Phil knows that he shouldn’t laugh. He even tries to stop himself, throwing a hand over his mouth to contain it, but it’s no use. Within seconds he’s in hysterics, sitting down on the sofa to brace himself, which is certainly _not_ what Dan was expecting.

It had only really occurred to him after seeing the way that Emma’s eyes lit up when he told her where they were that these are Phil’s _family_ , or at least the closest he has to one. His friends, even. The idea of getting them killed made him feel slightly sick, to be frank, because he can’t begin to imagine how Phil would react to Dan getting his friends hurt. Hell, he knows full well that if Phil got PJ killed, no matter how much of an infuriating ass PJ is, he’d probably never forgive Phil for it.

He didn’t know _when_ Emma and PJ planned to launch any kind of attack - if they decided to launch one at all, considering how outnumbered they are - but he figured that it’d be better to tell Phil, to warn him. At least Phil would then be able to warn the others.

But Phil _laughing_? That wasn’t something he factored into his plan. He was expecting _at least_ shouting, probably things being thrown at him, even more probably teeth going for his neck.

“Dan, I’m not _stupid_ ,” Phil says through splutters as he starts to regain some of his composure, “I knew from word go what you were doing. Come on, it’s not like you were subtle about it.”

“But then- Why the fuck would you give me the information if you knew what I was doing? They’re your, your family, right?” Dan furrows his brow, holding his arms out to the side in confusion.

“‘Family’ would certainly be a loose term at best. I hate the lot of them, honestly. For starters, the gang that turned me are still kicking about and God, what I would give to get my hands on them.” Phil’s laugh is more subdued this time, closer to a chuckle than anything else, “Really, your friends would be doing me a favour if they took out a few of them.”

Dan feels blood rushing to the tips of his ears, an annoying blush spreading across his cheeks. He folds his arms, pouting, “So you knew the entire fucking time? Fuck, I thought you were going to fucking eat me,”

“Yeah I got that, you twat. Jesus, I’d probably kiss you if your friends actually managed to do anything,”

“You’d kiss me anyway.” Dan mumbles, looking down at his feet.

“You’re cruel,” Phil replies with a roll of his eyes.

-

Phil really is an excellent cook.

Dan wishes that he could deny it, but in reality Phil cooks far better than he ever has been able to and he ever will be able to. Where Dan manages to burn toast, Phil can cook three course meals and whilst they might not always look like the most delicate dishes, they always taste absolutely _sublime_.

The one thing that Phil does take meticulous care over the presentation for, however, is his baking.

Dan can't think of a time that he's eaten so many homemade cakes. In fact, he thinks that he's probably eaten more cake for the past few weeks than he has _anything_ else, sexually or otherwise.

Today, though, he's really not in the mood to be fed cakes as much as he just wants to spend time in Phil's company, as dopey as it sounds. He wants to kick Phil's ass at video games or _something_ , anything that involves the pair of them together. Phil simply baking treat after treat and forcing Dan to try them out isn't exactly good for his figure or his loneliness, and he has no idea where this sudden cake phase came from, but he's not enjoying it as much as he thought he would.

"Phi-il," he whines, half-padding, half-sliding into the kitchen. He finds Phil bent over the side, beating something in a bowl with all his strength.

"Da-an," Phil replies in the same tone, not looking up from his work. By now, Dan knows Phil's senses well enough to realise that it's not exactly Phil being ignorant or rude as much as he doesn't have to look up at Dan to tell how far away he is; he can tell that anyway. In the back of his mind Dan wonders whether it's an insult that Phil claims he could smell Dan from miles away, even if he couldn't hear his heart well, but he shakes the thought away, slumping forward.

"I'm bored."

"Nice to meet you Bored, I'm Phil." The vampire mumbles distractedly as he puts down the whisk and reaches for the flour.

Before he can reach it, one of Dan's hands finds its way into the bag. He grins, grabbing a handful of flour.

Phil doesn't realise what's coming until it's too late. A fistful of white power is thrown all over him, earning a high-pitched yelp from his lips. Smirking, Dan picks up the whole bag, not able to  contain his giggles as he dumps it onto Phil, leaving him spluttering as it all goes straight into his mouth.

"Look, now you really are pale enough to be a vampire!" Dan's squeals of delight are interrupted by a cold glance from Phil, accompanied with a hand moving towards the bowl that he'd been beating eggs in.

"You are a right little bitch, aren't you?" The elder challenges, holding the bowl up high. Dan's hands follow suit, lifting up in mock surrender.

"Come on, Phil. Let's not be hasty, it was just a- Motherfucker!" Dan screeches as the eggs are tipped right over his head, destroying his hair within seconds. He shudders at how cold it is as it drips down his back, inevitably ruining his shirt.

"Aren't so cocky now, are we?" Phil teases with a toothy smile, tongue flicking over canines.

"Oh, I'm all about coc-" Dan begins, but is muffled by Phil's hand as the elder lurches forwards.

Dan isn't sure how, but somehow they end up on the floor, one hand pinning dans hands above his wrists and the other clamped around the brunette's mouth. He pretends to struggle, kicking out and squirming around beneath Phil, but his chest bubbles with giggles, his face going red with the effort of trying to laugh and breathe.

"Not _everything_ is about penises, you wanker." Phil growls. Dan opens his mouth to lick Phil's palm, sending the hand flying away in disgust for just long enough for him to retort with:

"I feel like you just contradicted yourself there with your choice of insult, Phil."

"You're a dick."

"Can you not come up with insults that don't involve male genitalia, Mr 'not-everything-is-about-penises'." Dan says with a grin, wrestling one of his hands free and pushing the hair out of his face.

He grimaces when he touches it, realising that it really is completely coated in egg, and Phil starts to giggle at him. Pouting, Dan slaps the elder's arm lightly, looking away from him in defiance.

"Do you want to help me bake?" Phil asks him, swinging his leg off Dan and pushing himself up  he leans down, offering his hand to the brunette, who doesn't even hesitate in taking it.

How cold Phil's palm is compared to his own doesn't even shock him anymore, but the involuntary shudder still runs through him. Phil doesn't seem to notice his reaction, though, as he keeps the big grin on his face.

"We'll need more eggs."

"No shit Sherlock, it's not like we can just use the ones that you dumped over my head!" Dan snorts, reaching for the fridge. It's actually stocked for once, and it takes him a moment to find the carton of eggs shoved rather stupidly underneath a bag of oranges (he makes a mental note to inform Phil that he doesn't even like oranges).

"And more flour, but I'm not sure if we have that. I might have to go out,"

"And raid the twenty four hour Tescos again? You must be a regular in there by now."

"Well, unless you want me to go out during the day and get burnt to a crisp-"

"It'd be a good punishment for ruining my hair." Dan grumbles, setting the eggs on the side and reaching up to his hair again. He pulls his hand away to find it coated with yolk.

-

"I'm so _tired_ ," Dan groans, kneading his forehead with the palm of his hand. He presses the home button absently on his phone, glancing at the time, and groans again when he sees that it's almost three in the morning.

It's not as if he's not used to this by now; hell, he might as well be nocturnal now. But where Phil is programmed to deal with this god awful sleep pattern, Dan is still human, and his internal body clock is screaming at him to sort out his shit.

"Then go to sleep." Phil states simply, keeping his eyes trained on the TV (it's a rather cheesy American crime drama that Phil seems to be obsessed with lately, mostly, as he himself has confessed, because both the male and female lead actors are attractive).

"But I can't." Dan mumbles, tucking his feet up underneath him.

They're sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Phil on the left, Dan on the right. It's a routine that they've more or less perfected by now, especially since Phil replaced his cake obsession with dumb crime dramas. Silently, Dan thinks to himself just how short Phil's attention span actually is.

"Well, if you're tired then just close your eyes and sleep. Simple."

"It's not that simple, Phil! I blame you, you totally fucked up my sleeping patterns." Dan slumps further into his chair, crossing his arms. He hears a sigh from the other end of her to sofa and looks up, seeing that Phil has turned around to face him.

"Come here?"

It's more of a question than a command, and it makes Dan hesitate. His eyes flick down to Phil's arms, which he holds wide open, as if gesturing for Dan to crawl into them.

And really, the idea is far more appealing than it should be. Phil is _cold_ to start with, and it shouldn't be particularly comfortable to sleep with your arms wrapped around a block of ice (although, Dan thinks, somehow the cool touch always helps lull him to sleep when they've finished and collapsed on his bed). Then there's the fact that Phil's teeth are damn sharp, and part of him is scared that Phil will forget himself and accidentally start nibbling at him (although, he admits, he isn't one to complain about Phil's teeth being in his neck anymore). Besides that, it's just not a thing that he's done with any of his friends before, always being too guarded of himself, too hyper aware of his own sexuality and the other person's awareness of it, terrified that they might see cuddling as 'something more' (although, he realises, it just seems like with Phil it would be _right_ in some way).

"Okay," the word slips from his lips before he means to allow it to, and he almost shocks himself. "Okay." He repeats, more to himself than Phil.

Dan shuffles towards his friend, tugging the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. Carefully, he settles down with Phil, ending up with arms locked around him, firm but not tight, and back pressed up against Phil's chest. They're on their sides, angled so that Phil can see the TV still, but Dan isn't paying the screen much attention as he lets his eyes droop shut.

-

Despite how much Phil begs, Dan still keeps his piano playing to himself.

He shares almost everything with his friends, almost too much. There's little about him that he keeps private, purely because that makes it easier to hide the things that he truly wants to. If your friends believe that they know all of your secrets, he's learnt, then they're less likely to believe that you might have any.

And the piano, well, that isn't exactly a secret, per se. Most people know at least that he dabbles in it, after all, he keeps his piano in his room and a surprisingly large percentage of his friends have at one point been invited in here, most of them not for entirely pure reasons. But none of them know exactly just how much he plays, or how good he is at it (because, yes, he'll admit, he is pretty damn good when he wants to be).

Phil knows that he still plays regularly (there have been several occasions where Phil has walked in unexpectedly and honestly, Dan thinks that he's more embarrassed by Phil catching him playing then he would be if Phil caught him wanking), but Dan won't indulge him. Phil has asked more than once for Dan to show him some more (specifically, to show him more Chopin, and Dan doesn't like to dwell on the reasons as to why Phil might be quite so obsessed with the composer), and every time Dan has come up with some weak, wimpish excuse that Phil can probably see straight through.

Still, it's hard to stick to his own resolve when he walks into his sitting room one evening and finds Phil lying on the sofa. He doesn't even think anything of it at first, and sits down on the armchair at the other side of the room, curling up and focussing his eyes on the TV.

It takes him a second to realise that the TV isn't actually _on_. He frowns and pushes himself up, padding over to the TV. He doesn't turn round to look at Phil, figuring that he must just be playing on Dan's phone or something (Dan has stopped questioning the fact that his phone keeps periodically disappearing as Phil uses it with utter childlike fascination), and crouches down, turning the set on and then slotting the first DVD he sees into it.

When he pushes himself back up and turns to walk back to the armchair where the remote is already resting, he freezes.

He opens his mouth to say something but realises that his words are stuck in his throat like ice. It's painful, the lump in his throat, as he simply stands there, gormlessly open-mouthed, staring at the somewhat shaking form of Phil Lester.

The first thought that crosses his mind is that he needs to turn the heating up, but another flush of ice hits him when he realises that god damn it, Phil is a _vampire_. He doesn't exactly get cold (or at least if he did, it would take more than the average temperature of Dan's apartment to make him so). And besides, the slight shaking is accompanied by quiet sniffling and Phil's face being buried in his knees. He's curled up, making himself as small as Dan imagines an over six foot male could be.

"Phil?" The word is hoarse, barely there, but even so, it makes Phil jolt, sitting right up.

"Dan. Shit, I, was, just-"

"You were crying." Dan whispers, his lips hardly moving, "You were _crying_."

"No, no, I wasn't crying, I'm okay," Phil says even as he wipes his eyes, trying to hide the tears that Dan knows he saw.

"Don't even try to bullshit me, Lester. You might be a vampire but you're not a very good liar," his words turn out more aggressive than he intends and Phil flinches, looking up at Dan with- is that _fear_?

Almighty vampire Philip Michael Lester, scared by little old, plain, boring human Dan. Something definitely isn't okay.

"Phil." Dan makes sure that his tone softens as he sits down next to his friend, running a hand through his hair as he does. His fingers brush aside his fringe and it lets him see Phil out of the corner of his eye, lets him watch as the elder shoves his own fingers into the mess of black locks on top of his head and drag his palms over his eyes.

"Sorry. I'm being stupid, God, I'm sorry. Right," Phil clears his throat, plasters a smile onto his face and turns round to face Dan, everything about his expression strained, "Let's be manly again."

"Shut the hell up, don't be an idiot. God, Phil- Phil, what’s wrong?" Pulling in his bottom lip between his teeth, Dan watches as Phil's eye twitches and his smile falters at the question. Looking down at his lap, Phil starts to fumble with a loose thread in his jeans.

"Nothing. Nothing important. Like, honestly, it's not important. I should really probably be over it by now, to be honest. I'm being slightly dramatic over the whole thing, it's okay. Just ignore me, I'll be okay in a couple of hours. Sometimes I just... I don't know, sometimes I just remember,"

"Remember what? For God's sakes Phil, if it's upsetting you then it _does_ matter, I don't care how stupid you think whatever it is is, if it makes you sad, then it is important." Dan says firmly, twisting his body round so that he can face Phil head-on.

Without thinking, he reaches down and scoops up Phil's hands in his own. Phil's head snaps up, his eyes widening at the gesture. It's almost, Dan thinks for a moment, as if his touch burned.

"Do you ever just, like," stuttering over his words, Phil bites his own lip absently, breaking the skin instantly. Dan's eyes flicker down to the small pool of blood that's forming, watching the way it bubbles to the surface and then holds in an almost perfect sphere, like a bead threaded into the skin. "Do you ever just feel like there's something, someone, almost, right at the top of your lungs, right at the surface of your brain, right in the pores on the surface of your skin? Like, the memory of them, sort of overwhelming you like they're still there, even though they haven't been for a long time?"

"Phil..." Dan begins, opening his mouth to make some quick remark that _of course I've never felt that, you poetic spoon._ He realises though, as soon as the words are on his lips, that he _has_ felt like that. That's exactly how he felt when he was waiting for Phil to come home that night. "Who?"

It's a question that Dan certainly does not have the right to ask. He hasn't known Phil for that long, really, not when compared to the number of years Phil has behind him. Dan doesn't have the right to ask questions like that, he doesn't have the right to know anything about Phil, really. He's little more than a small crack in the castle of glass that is Phil's life, he's little more than a notch in Phil's bedpost.

Even so, despite the fact that Phil doesn't owe Dan an answer to the intrusive question, despite the fact that Dan shouldn't have asked it, Phil breathes out his shaky answer.

"Beth."

The word sounds like it hurts Phil to say. It's strained, forced out of a throat which has been clamped shut to the name for so many years before Dan.

Phil looks down.

Truthfully, he can't bear to have Dan look at him like that. The brunette reminds him far too much of her and God, it simply isn't fair. His best friend has brought back every memory of her that he's managed to suppress, managed to take the sting away from her. The way Dan's lips curl when he smiles, the way Dan's eyes light up when he's laughing at something stupid that Phil's done, the way Dan pokes fun at Phil with that stupid affectionate smile on his face all the while.

He wanted to be away from Dan, just for a little while. But then, he wonders, why did he choose the one spot in the house that Dan was inevitably going to come to? If he was truly trying to escape the reminder, then why did he curl up on Dan's own goddamn sofa, practically lying down like an animal waiting for slaughter?

"Come with me." Dan says, standing up and reaching out a hand. Phil's hand grabs it and pulls himself up, letting himself be led away by Dan.

Dan doesn't speak as he settles down in the stool by his piano. He waves towards the bed, gesturing for Phil to take a seat, but doesn't say anything when Phil simply stays standing instead.

Instead, his focus is far more on the keys in front of him. He presses one of them gently, almost as if he's experimenting. Phil tilts his head with intrigue, fascinated by how fluid Dan's fingers seem as he starts to play. It somehow looks like the younger is using all the pressure he can and yet none at all at the same time, as if the notes fly from his fingers rather than the keys themselves. It's as if the keys are a mere tool to achieve an end, as if the fingers conjure the music rather than the piano.

And, Phil supposes, that is half the beauty in the instrument.

After a rather jagged chord, Dan stops his practise and lifts his fingers. They hover over the pattern of black and white, and the colours blur together as Phil stares at him. They create a grey that morphs around Dan's hands, clearing space for them as they start to press down again.

The melody that flows is familiar, of course. The evolution of digital music players which enabled him to listen to Chopin on demand was, to him, a pure miracle, a way of keeping part of her alive, if only in music. It's the last time that he can remember actively _believing_ in God. The ability of a human to make such a beautiful thing could only, he thought, have been down to some kind of intervention, or at least a part of some grand design. And though he still believes (he _has_ to; it's his only chance, his _only_ chance, of ever seeing her again), he knows that it's the last time he truly saw any quality of this so called loving God that he was brought up on.

He spent hours at a time learning the composer's pieces. He heard a thousand and one interpretations of each piece, memorised the sheet music that he didn't understand. What he said to Dan was true; he thinks that the man's music is overrated. But the comfort it gives Phil certainly is not.

Dan plays better than any of those interpretations. Not because of technical details - no, Dan certainly is rough around the edges, probably through teaching himself rather than having proper instruction - but each note is glazed with emotion, each note practically _glows_ with it.

And so does the boy seated at the instrument, his face fixed in concentration as he hits the keys, and Phil has only ever seen one person play like that before. Not even Chopin, not even the man who composed the music that flows through the air in the first place played with as much emotion as Dan does, as she used to. It's almost as if, and Phil closes his eyes to test this theory, it's almost as if she's _there._

Once again, he can feel the tears swimming freely to the surface of his eyes. He sniffs as he doesn't even try to hide them this time, letting them fall without restraint. Dan's playing falters for a mere second when he realises that Phil is crying, his gaze moving upwards, but the way that Phil's face is so fixated on the keys at his fingertips, almost _obsessively_ so, makes him look right back, continuing to play.

At some point, Phil realises that he's sat down. His fingers clutch the bedsheets beneath him, clinging on to them as if it were for dear life. And it kind of _is_. He needs the physical feeling, the comfort of the soft sheets being fisted in his hands, to keep him grounded. It's like a life line tying him to the physical world, and he forces himself to focus on it as he feels his head swim as the weightless feeling from crying sets in.

The music starts to fade. It doesn't stop abruptly as Phil was expecting, as he was _dreading_. Instead, Dan starts to press lighter, letting the music lead him, letting it dictate the almost theatrical exit. The final handful of notes are probably quiet enough so that only Phil himself hears them, his hearing being much more heightened than Dan's, and then they're gone.

They leave a ringing silence in their place. Phil takes a sharp breath and lets go of the sheets.

He's on his feet before he even realises it. There's no logical thought that goes into throwing his arms around Dan's neck, but there's nothing logical in losing your one true love, your soul mate, before you really get to live, and there's nothing logical in having to be comforted about such an old loss by your closest friend.

Dan is warm, warm and close, smelling of honey and the shampoo that Phil has taken to using from the rack by Dan's shower. It's a purer scent than the one that Dan has worn every other time Phil has been this close to him; it isn't the scent of sex and hormones and a frantically beating heart sending Phil into total overdrive. Phil can still hear that same heart beat, of course (he practically _always_ can due to how much time he spends in this apartment), but it's steadier, calmer as Dan lets his arms wrap around Phil.

Burying his face in the crook of Dan's neck, Phil takes in a breath (the second unnecessary breath in a short space of time) and smiles a bittersweet smile, his lips moving against the fabric of Dan's t-shirt.

"Thank you. Thank you." Phil mutters. The sound is muffled but Dan seems to understand because fingers slide upwards, burying his digits in Phil's hair. The younger lets out small shushing sounds, much like the one a mother might make to a hysterical child.

"It's okay, God. I just wish that you'd fucking told me you were sad rather than hiding from me."

"You remind me of her." The words make Dan's heart pang. Of course, Phil's hug isn't from affection for Dan. Phil's hug is out of him searching for her, searching for a surrogate, almost. Dan is little more than a replacement, and one that, surely, will never measure up to the original. And it shouldn't bother him, after all, Dan and Phil have a totally different relationship to the one that Beth and Phil had. But somehow, for some twisted reason that probably defies as much logic as Phil's hug did, it makes the back of his mind throb a little with hurt.

-

Fingers drum absently on the windowsill. A heavy sigh forces itself past pursed lips, the sound of his contempt ringing throughout the whole room.

He can't remember the last time he was so _bored_. Though he's never been a particularly active person, he's never _bored_ per se. He always has something to occupy his time with - xbox, food, sleep and, most recently, Phil.

But the last of those is sat on the sofa watching some show that is so bad Dan has actually insisted the vampire only listen to it through headphones so that he doesn't have to endure the torture of the painfully constructed dialogue. Right now he's regretting that; at least it would have provided some background noise.

He cranes his neck, looking round and smiling fondly at what he sees. Phil, lying out on his back, his feet resting on the back of the sofa and his head just balancing on the edge of the sofa pads. The iPad he's watching the show on is held up above his head, the headphone wires dangling across his face. It's such a childish pose that Dan can't help but grin at it.

As if noticing Dan's gaze, Phil turns his head a little. The smile he passes Dan is toothy, his sharp points showing prominently over his lips, and where they once sent shockwaves of fear, they now simply make Dan's heart skip a little.

Phil turns away again and leaves Dan alone once again. He lets out another sigh, looking back out of his windowsill.

The only thing good about today is the rain. It falls heavily, the soft sounds lulling him into a sense of tranquility despite his boredom. It looks rather enticing from his window, and he freezes still, an idea striking him.

"Phil." Dan says, looking back around and realising that he hasn't caught the attention of his friend. Rolling his eyes, he says again, a little louder, "Phil?"

This time, Phil definitely hears it. It startles the vampire, sending him falling off the sofa as he loses his precarious balance, tumbling head first onto the floor with a high pitched yelp.

"Twat," Dan wheezes out between laughs as he throws his head back.

"Shut up," Phil grumbles, his skin flushing red. "You scared me."

"Wow, I must be terrifying if I scare the vicious vampire Phil Lester."

"You're a little bitch, that's what you are." Phil grumbles as he stands back up, wiping himself down.

"Here," Dan says, taking Phil's hand in his. "Come with me."

Phil isn't given a chance to respond before Dan's dragging him along, pulling Phil down the hallway. He stops only to take a moment to put on his shoes (much less gracefully than he would have liked), and he hands Phil his too. With a raised eyebrow, the elder gets just enough time to fumble with the laces to make them safely secure before Dan's dragging him through the front door, pulling him down the stairs that lead up to Dan's apartment.

"Dan, where are we going, it's fucking raining," Phil says despondently, trying to tug Dan backwards.

The only reply he gets is from the creaking of the opening door.

The rain patters heavily on the ground, and the white noise it creates is soothing and sweet in Dan's head. It's almost like music; calming, sweet music that breaks up the stress of the past months. He forgets about having to hide. He forgets about having to lie. He just grins at the sight outside the open door, and in a moment of indecision, pulls off his shoes and socks.

"What are you doing?" He hears Phil ask behind him, the bemusement in his voice almost making Dan laugh.

" _We're_ having fun," Dan replies with a grin, before he darts out into the downpour, the chill of the water on his skin waking him up more than anything else has for a long time. It's dark outside, but he's never felt brighter. The rain is heavy, but he's never felt lighter. And Phil's voice is confused, but he's never felt clearer.

"Come _on_ ," Dan says as he skips back towards Phil, grabbing the cold hand. There's no finesse in the way that he pulls Phil out into the rain; it looks like he's dragging a bundle of long limbs behind him. Phil squeals, trying to pull back, but Dan keeps tugging, and really, Phil can't be trying very hard to resist if Dan's managing to pull him along.

"We'll get soaked and you'll get a cold or the flu or something and I swear to God, I am _not_ looking after you if you get ill through your own stupidity." Phil tries weakly to protest, but he's already following Dan along, already letting himself be pulled into the hammering rain.

"Come on, please," Dan half-begs, and Phil knows that he can't say no to that look. He knows that he can't say no to Dan's wide, pleading eyes, or the way that Dan's lips are in a slight pout, or the rather helpless softening of the boy's expression.

With a nod, Phil gives in. Dan grins, dragging Phil right out into the rain, giggling again as the droplets fall on him. His feet are half-numb and he knows that he's probably going to regret this, but as he looks back and sees the smile starting to play on Phil's lips, he can't find it within him to care.

"This is insane." The words bubble between a laugh, floating from a tongue which is pressed between both rows of Phil's teeth. A hand flies up to cover the habit up, but darker hands stop them.

Phil looks down at the lightly tanned fingers which are covering his own. His mouth stays open.

"Don't hide it. It's cute." Dan says rather adamantly. Phil barely even hears it, his mind darting to the memory of Beth doing exactly the same thing as Dan.

"Was she pretty?" Dan asks. Phil looks up, startled, words to question why Dan would ask that right on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them, though, and looks back at the hands.

"Beautiful. Every time I looked at her was like the first."

"Even when she got older?"

"Especially when she got older."

Dan grins, entwining their hands and dragging Phil out of the rain. Phil starts to join in with the giggling, the little sounds falling from his mouth feeling far too pure, far too light, for them to be coming from the mouth of a vampire. A vampire who has killed people, a vampire who has witnessed war after war after war, a vampire who practically died and was dragged back to life when he was turned.

They end up taking shelter underneath the nearest tree, hidden beneath a canopy of leaves. The drops fall heavily against them, creating a rhythmic thudding, a kind of music that can only be appreciated when the sun is down.

"Hey, Dan," Phil begins, earning the attention of the brunette. Dan turns, his eyes glistening, his lips wide in a toothy grin that could rival even Phil's. "Thank you."

"Shut up, you knob," Dan snorts, reaching forward and grabbing Phil's hair between his fingers.

The press of Dan's lips, the way they feel when they meet Phil's own, soft and gentle and (dare he say it) _loving,_ is enough to convince him that, just maybe, the world isn't against him anymore.

-

"Phil?"

"Yeah?" The vampire's response rings through the apartment, into the next room where Dan is opening doors and peering in cupboards.

"Have you seen the Buffy boxset?"

This has become routine, this has become ritual. On at least one night during the week, the pair (or, rather, Phil) will take time out to whine about the misrepresentation of vampires in the media. The further back time goes, by definition, the less accurate things get, but there are always things even in modern portrayal that Phil finds to pick at. To be fair to Buffy, it's a fairly accurate representation, but there's always something missing.

(Dan merely watches Phil; his words are guaranteed to be far more amusing than whatever it is they're watching.)

It's silent for a moment, until Dan hears a thoughtful response. "No," Phil says. "Have you checked the study? Or maybe your room?"

Dan sighs. It seems like a lot of effort to go to over a damned box set; he's tempted to give up and keep watching the episode of Meerkat Manor that plays in the background. But he knows that he should probably try and find it while it's fresh in his memory. After all, Phil is probably right. It's probably just tucked away on a bookshelf or a windowsill.

He moves from the room he's in, across to the study. It takes a moment or two of browsing for him to realise that it's probably not in there; that's more where he keeps his video games and his Mac than anything else. He doesn't clutter the windowsill in the study, either; he likes to let in some light while he works, to keep himself awake, and he can't if there is too much in the way.

So he darts from the study to his bedroom, where he knows it has to be, throwing a sideways smile to the piano for no real reason. Maybe he's checking to see if it's on top of the piano, maybe he's just losing his mind a bit. Or maybe, now that his piano isn't so private anymore, it's something that he can look at and feel comfortable with.

After briefly and fruitlessly looking under the bed, Dan stands up and flicks his eyes over to the windowsill. And, sure enough, there sits the box, brownish red and waiting to be watched.

He laughs at himself, pushing a hand through his hair. Of course he'd leave it somewhere so stupidly obvious, and of course Phil would know he'd do that. It's ridiculous; he has a shelf in the lounge for this very purpose, and yet he still confuses himself like this.

He reaches out to pick up the box, throwing an absent glance out of the window at the road, flooded with golden street light.

 _Fuck_.

He stops, frozen still, barely even daring to breathe as he looks back. The box falls from his fingers, but he doesn't register the dull thud it makes when it hits the carpet.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Dan almost throws up, right there. Maybe that's a little bit too graphic, but he feels his stomach churn and he swears that he feels his face go about three shades paler as he stands there, time having slowed and everything having frozen around the two individuals outside his window.

The girl, the girl wears an expression that is drenched in guilt, her bright red hair hanging over her face in a way that suggests her inability to keep herself still and composed and everything that surrounds that. Her eyes are frightened, brown and green mixing in a way that only hers do, and her hair stands out even in the dark of the street. And she's talking to her companion, a river of something that Dan can only assume is dissuasion and upset. She's unmistakable.

Emma's pulling on his sleeve, in the opposite direction to which they face. Perhaps trying to drag him back the way they came. But steely determination in his green eyes makes Dan feel sick, because he's only ever seen that look once before. He doesn't know what makes him more nauseous, though - the way his eyes gleam with that murderous light, or the way his hair falls in messy curls over one eye, or the way his face is expressionless. Or the way his knuckles whiten with the pressure of his grip around the-

Dan stops. He's going to be sick, he's going to faint.

"Dan?" He's brought back to life by the thumping footsteps of the other man, the gentle concern in his voice. And, well, the concern is warranted - as far as Phil is concerned, Dan looks like he's about to pass out. "Shit, Dan, are you alright?"

"Phil," the boy just about manages to choke out. "Hide. Now."

Phil frowns. "Why?"

"PJ's outside," Dan replies weakly, closing his eyes and just focusing on trying not to heave up his dinner because, sweet jesus, he can't get the image out of his head. He doesn't know what he fears more, now. His friends, or the object they have in their possession. "And Emma."

Phil sighs, a grin spreading across his face. The look on Dan's face made him think that the apocalypse was upon them or something, and even though he still looks worried sick, it can't be too terrible if that's all it is. "Christ, don't scare me like that," he laughs nervously. "I can just leave and come back, if that's all it-"

"You can't," the other boy interjects, and Phil swears he feels something in him sink from the strain in his voice. "It's different this time."

Different? Phil lifts a dubious eyebrow. "How?" He asks, finally letting worry begin to eat away at him as Dan looks him full in the eyes because, _damn it_ , the boy looks like he's going to be _sick_.

"PJ's got a stake."

"A what?" Phil says quietly, and Dan knows that Phil heard him. He knows that Phil heard _exactly_ what he said, because his pale skin is fading even further and his shimmering eyes widen to a point that Dan would usually find funny, that he would usually laugh at.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, you need to hide, fuck."

"They'll follow me, they won't stop, they're hunters. They don't stop, Dan. They don't ever stop." Phil's voice shakes as he says it, taking a few steps backwards from the windowsill. "And I can't just- I can't just stop them myself. I won't do that to you."

"God, don't talk like that. I'll get them off your tail, but you've got to hurry," Dan starts to push Phil out of the room, his hands pressed firmly to his chest. "Don't run, just hide." Phil opens his mouth to protest, but all arguments dissipate off the tip of his tongue when they hear the sound of Dan’s buzzer.

“ _Shit_ ,” Phil hisses, curling his hands into fists. He looks at Dan desperately, his mouth hanging open so that his sharp points are on full display.

He watches as Dan’s Adam’s Apple bobs up and down as the younger swallows. A shaking hand reaches up to press fingers against the bridge of his nose as Dan thinks, looking around for something, _anything_ , which will help get them out of this mess.

“Fire escape,” he breathes the words before they’ve even registered in his mind. The buzzer goes off again and he doesn’t waste any more time in pushing Phil down the hall and towards the window that leads them onto the metal steps that form the fire escape of his building.

Dan starts to fumble with the latch for the window and Phil stops, grabbing onto Dan’s jumper and opening his mouth again. Dan shakes his head, interrupting before Phil can waste any more time with words.

"Quick, just go and hide," Dan urges, pushing a hand through his hair. "Please, go. I love you."

Phil pauses, frozen still. _I love you, I love you,_ the phrase whirls around his mind like a hurricane. Has Dan ever told him that before? He can't recall, but he doesn't think he's heard it said in Dan's voice before, never heard Dan say those words in the same sentence to anyone, let alone him. Him, the worst possible person to say it to, because he is dangerous and a killer and, oh god, Dan can't possibly. Worse still, his first impulse is not to say it back, but to flee. And he's sure all of this and more is contained in the look he gives the boy, eyes ever so slightly afraid. Afraid of being uncovered, afraid of being killed, afraid of all of the above.

Dan notices, and his facial expression softens as he bridges the small gap between them by leaning forward. He can't think about what'll happen if he's unsuccessful, can't let Phil think about it, because it's obviously scaring him half to death. "Hey," he says quietly, placing his hands on Phil's cheeks, his voice gentle. "Don't look at me like that. It'll be fine, I promise."  He kisses Phil softly, the touch barely landing on Phil's mouth. "I'll get rid of them. Just go and hide. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

Phil closes his eyes. Dan doesn't seem like he even _knows_ , and that makes things worse. He doesn't know how, but it does. But he nods anyway. "Okay," he whispers, sighing out a breath. "Okay, I'm sorry. We'll be fine. You're right." But that's more for his benefit than Dan's. Fine, fine, of course they'll be fine - they have to be.

"When have I not been right?" Dan tries to joke, earning just a timid smile from Phil. "Now, for the love of god, go and hide. Quickly."

Phil lifts his leg up and starts to climb over the side, but Dan doesn’t want to make sure that he’s gone. With a shaky exhale, he half-sprints to his front door, taking a second to catch his  breath before he answers it.

The buzzer goes off again. The shrill, demanding sound somehow encompasses all of the urgency that Dan knows will be in PJ’s voice, encompasses the slight tinge of regret that he’s sure will be in Emma’s (he doesn’t even want to face the possibility that she willingly sold Phil out; this has to be an accident, a mistake, a fatal slip of the tongue on her behalf). The jolts of shuddering fear that it sends through him certainly encompass the paralysing fear imbued within every single drop of his blood, the electric coursing through his veins making his palms sweat and his fingers shake as he reaches to press the button.

“Don’t even say anything, where is it?” PJ starts, and before Dan can even clear his throat he’s continuing, “You’d better let us in, or I swear that I will break my way in there. Don’t think that I won’t, Daniel Howell.”

No matter how many times Dan has mocked PJ, no matter how many times he’s plastered satirical names to the man, he can’t do it now. He’s had some kind of mocking insult at the tip of his tongue in almost every conversation he’s ever had with his friend, but somehow everything he could say fails him in that moment.

And maybe it’s because of the fact that in the back of his mind is the pulsing image of Phil clambering over his own windowsill, but he thinks it’s more likely that it’s because PJ’s voice is stripped of everything but anger. There’s no fear, no hesitation. PJ sounds like a madman, and Dan’s starting to wonder if he actually has become one.

“Right.” Dan croaks, letting them in.

By the time they get up, Dan’s managed to swallow the lump in his throat. He’s the master of excuses, and he starts to piece a few together, no matter how stupid they are.

He opens his door with a bracing inhale, a smile forcing its way onto his lips.

He’s not even surprised to see PJ already storming down the corridor, his mouth set in a hard line and his eyes narrowed as he looks Dan up and down. It’s as if, Dan thinks for a moment, PJ reckons that he could _smell_ Phil on Dan, that there would be some kind of indication of _taint_. The idea makes his stomach turn.

"Where is it?" PJ asks through gritted teeth before he’s even through the door.

"If you're referring to my porn stash, I feel like that's a bit personal." Dan says, not without a slight bite, “Although, if you’re looking for recommendations I’m sure I could help out. It depends; which way are you swinging these days, PJ?”

“Shut the fuck up,” PJ snaps, striding towards Dan. “Don’t even think about trying to make this into one of your little jokes, this isn’t fucking funny. I told you, I warned you. You knew, I made it clear, that you weren’t to see him again. And here you are, and don’t think I don’t know the fucking details on exactly what you’ve been doing,”

“Em-” Dan starts, glancing past PJ’s shoulder. She shakes her head before letting it fall, unable to look him in the eye. He doesn’t have time to ask her anything more before a finger is being jabbed into his shoulder and he’s being pushed backwards, pushed into his living room and right up against the wall.

“If this is some weird way of coming onto me Peej, then all you had to do is ask.”

“Where is it?”

“ _He_. He’s a _he_.” Dan growls before he even thinks, and that’s all PJ needs. It’s all he needs to raise a fist, to grab hold of Dan’s jumper and to go to swing it right at-

But the punch doesn’t land. Dan’s flinch falters, and he lets his eyes unscrunch. He hadn’t even realised he’d closed them, but-

“Emma. With me, now,” PJ orders, letting go of the fabric. Dan frowns and turns back behind him, a sinking feeling of realisation hitting him.

And he wishes that he wasn’t right. For once in his life, he wishes that he was wrong. He wishes that he wasn’t right in thinking that PJ had looked through the window seen Phil walking back up to the apartment building purposefully, and he wishes that he wasn’t right in knowing _exactly_ what PJ is about to do.

“No,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He stands there, stock still, staring at the backs of PJ and Emma as they start to walk out, not able to move a single muscle. _I told him not to run,_ he thinks, _I told him not to run_.

But once he hears the door close, reality pulls him down to the ground. _No_.

“Stop!” He screeches, darting out to catch up with them. He half-tumbles down the stairs as he sprints down them, every fibre in his body burning.

 _No_.

“For fuck’s sakes, PJ, stop, please-” Dan _begs_ , his voice cracking as he _finally_ manages to catch up with them, just before PJ’s about to rip the front door open.

It doesn’t even seem like PJ’s heard him as he’s still reaching forwards, moving to pull the door open without second thoughts. Dan forces himself between the green-eyed man and Emma just in time to stand in front of the door, throwing his arms out almost like a barricade.

“Get out of the way, Dan. Don’t think that I won’t move you myself if I have to,”

There it is again, that madness, that gleam in PJ’s eyes that makes Dan want to be sick. His resolve crumbles just long enough for PJ to push aside Dan’s slackening limbs and pull the door open, marching right out onto the street.

Phil doesn’t see PJ, he _hears_ Dan. The shriek of his name makes his stomach turn as he whips around, almost stumbling backwards in his haste.

His eyes narrow. He thinks, he _knows_ that he could get out of this with Dan and himself alive if he fought back. The rare times that hunters manage to actually kill his kind are when the vampires are caught by utter surprise, when they fuck up, or when they don’t even care if they die anymore. They’re no match to vampires, and God, despite how enraged PJ looks, he’s absolutely no threat to Phil if Phil chooses to fight back.

But then he looks over the shoulder of the threat and he sees Dan, his mouth still open from the scream, and is _that-_

It’s _that_ that stops him from just launching himself right at PJ. It’s the fact that Dan is _crying_ that stops him from following the instincts pulsating through him and instead of running forward, tripping over his feet slightly as he starts to run back towards where he came from.

“PJ, look, he’s running, he’s not a threat, he won’t-”

“They’re all threats, Dan,” PJ stops abruptly, turning right on his heel, “They’re all the same, and you’re not going to change that by thinking that you’ve fallen in love with one,”

“Then tell me," Dan snaps through gritted teeth, "why the hell isn’t Chris fucking dead yet?”

Silence stabs through the air around them like the stake in PJ's hand. Dan thinks that he could probably hear the beat of a hummingbird's wings, it's so quiet. That is, if he could get past the sound of his hummingbird heartbeat first. It's thumping, thumping, thumping in his chest, filling his head with the sound. But somewhere, in a small space that the noise has left, is the thought that he's _right_ , that PJ is left without a leg to stand on.

That's clear, though, just from the look on PJ's face. Just for a moment, it's an expression Dan can only compare to a wounded animal, glassy-eyed pain, and he nearly feels _guilty_. But just as quickly PJ lost the ability to stand, he's back on his feet, and his face hardens into hatred.

Dan catches a glimpse of Phil running in the corner of his eye and he just has to buy Phil time, has to give him enough to get away safely. And if one of Dan’s main faults is the fact that he never knows when to shut his damn mouth, then he’s not going to let that trait go to waste.

“Why did you let him live? Why didn’t you just kill him right there? It would have hurt less for him, but no, it was about _you_ ,” he spits, throwing every ounce of venom he has right at PJ. “ _You_ couldn’t lose him yet, could you? And look how it turned out, man! You can’t even look him in the fucking eye. We all know, we’ve all noticed. And all this happened because you made it all about _you._ ” Phil’s ducked into a side street and Dan prays, prays it’s enough to stop PJ finding him as he keeps going, “Because you’re _selfish_ , PJ. I don’t know when that fucking happened, I really don’t. I don’t know what happened the night Chris got turned, and I don’t know when you turned into the prick that’s standing before me right now. But it’s true, you’re selfish, and you can’t see past your own blind _hatred_.”

The way PJ stares at Dan is almost as if PJ’s seeing right through him and into some kind of mirror, reflecting everything. PJ, stood there, eyes crazed and teeth gritted, stake in hand with a terrified-looking bright-haired woman behind him. As PJ just stares, silence once again slicing through the air, Dan can practically feel the licking flames of fury radiating off the man in front of him, and he knows that he’s struck exactly where he wanted to.

“Go on, then,” Dan croaks, choking out his words. “Tell me that it isn’t true.”

 _Silence_.

“You can’t, can you?”

It’s that that seems to snap PJ back into it. His spare fist clenches so tightly that Dan swears he hears the knuckles crack, and there’s barely time for Dan to attempt to swallow the lump in his throat before PJ’s _gone_.

PJ’s gone, darting right in the direction Phil went, Phil’s _going_.

“Phil, fuck, run!” Dan shrieks, forcing himself to start running too. He can’t remember a time when his lungs _burnt_ so much, when his legs felt like they were going to give way at any second.

Phil hears, the sound like acid in his ears, and starts to pick up his pace. He turns, running blindly.

And then he stops.

He presses his hands up against the wall in front of him, the brick cold even against his standards. A harsh whisper of ‘fuck’ falls from his lips as he looks up, trying to figure out if there’s any way in hell that he could possibly climb up it.

Of course, there isn’t. There’s no way he’s getting out of this, not this time. With each footstep behind him another second of the very short time that turn has meant that he has left falls away and crashes to the ground, shattering on impact.

It’s not the first time. He’s been around long enough to have had his fair share of near-death experiences, but this is different. For the past two hundred years he hasn’t had anyone to leave behind, hasn’t had anyone closer than a passing acquaintance.

But now, the words that Dan said to him pulse in his ears. _I love you. I love you. I love you_.

Dan loves him, and Phil didn’t even get to say it back.

“PJ, stop,” the voice isn’t Dan’s this time, and Phil turns to see Emma frantically trying to pull PJ back. Any other time, Phil thinks, she would be able to do it, but PJ simply tugs his arm away and keeps advancing like it’s nothing.

“Dan,” Phil whispers without even thinking. His eyes go right over PJ’s shoulder as he tries to find Dan, the unnerving absence of the sound of the boy’s heart beating making him want to be sick. “Dan?”

Dan’s still running, all the breath is bumping out of his body with every footfall, and it’s still not fast enough. His body is burning and it feels like his legs are going to collapse underneath him, but he _can’t_ stop, he doesn’t have time. He’s praying that he’s not too late, that Phil isn’t already dying, that maybe he can do something, as it is.

He knows it’s stupid to think that _he_ could do something, but entitlement is all he has.

After what feels like forever, he reaches the corner that Phil turned into the alleyway, that PJ and Emma followed him into. And he knows it’s ridiculous, but his head is a stream of reassurances and he can’t help but feel like he’s lying to himself. It’s like he’s a child, and he’s telling himself that if he doesn’t step on any cracks or if he gets home in a number of minutes, he might get to go out and play for longer instead of doing homework. It’s like he’s a teenager and he’s telling himself that if he gets into uni, he’s got nothing to worry about ever again.

It’s like he’s twenty three, and telling himself that if he can turn this corner, everything will be alright.

_Phil’s fine. Phil’s fine. You’re going to turn this corner and he’s going to be standing there grinning at you like this is some massive joke. Just like always._

He almost doesn’t want to go down there, but something spurs him forward. Blind hope, stupidity, he doesn’t know what.

He turns, and stops dead in his tracks, taking in the sight for just a second. It’s a relatively wide alley, wide enough for him to move past PJ and Emma with relative ease, but what really strikes him is the wall at the end of it. It’s a complete dead end, and there stands Phil, trapped between the wall and a man intent on ending his life.

Phil couldn’t have kept going if he’d wanted to. And this is it now, this is _it_. It might not be the first time that he’s faced this, but it looks like it’ll certainly be the last. He never even told Dan goodbye, he never said a hundred things he probably should have. But there’s nothing he can do now so he closes his eyes, braced and almost _ready_.

It was a good one, or so he tells himself.

All Dan can do is watch. He watches PJ’s grip tighten around his stake, staining his knuckles white as he tries to still the slight shake of his hand. He watches Emma, who’s watching PJ, helpless to do anything other than just watching and absolutely _hating_ it; he can tell by the look she wears on her face. He watches Phil’s eyes flutter closed.

But it’s not all he can do. It doesn’t feel like this is all that he can do. He’s stood paralysed behind PJ, but there has to be something _more_. He can’t stay passive. He can’t act like he’s powerless when he knows for a fact that he _isn’t_ , that he _can’t be_.

Before he can catch himself, he’s moving, as quietly and carefully as he can along the side of the alley. PJ still has a distance to move before he’s close enough to Phil, maybe a metre and half at a rough guess. It could be any time, he could go at any time, Dan could be too late at _any time_ , but until PJ actually moves, there’s still something he can do. There _has_ to be something he can do.

He looks at the empty space, and then at PJ, and then at Phil.

Dan Howell is a selfish man. His whole life so far has been about getting what he wants. Exam after exam, bar after bar, girl after boy after girl after boy, all of it was just a means to make _him_ happy and to give _him_ a purpose he knows he was never entitled to. He gets what he wants, he’s spoilt; he’s _selfish_.

But he’s ready to admit that. He’s ready to _prove_ it. Phil isn’t dying tonight.

He clenches his fists and grits his teeth, closing his eyes tight as he moves out into the open space. He can’t get a grip on how fast he’s going, all he knows is that he’s got to be _fast_ , because he hasn’t got long. He can hear PJ going to move, and he knows that this is _it_ , that it’s now or it’s never.

He spurs himself forward, almost tripping over his feet in his haste, blinded by the way he can’t will himself to open his eyes. But then, he decides, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe if he could see, he wouldn’t be so ready to prove how selfish he is. Maybe if he could see, the impact of a hand pushing him back would change his mind.

_"Really fucking rude. You being a vampire and all that."_

He feels his body slammed against that wall, the brick grating into him reminding him that he's still alive.

_"Oh, I was thinking I could, like, use your bathroom or feed off of your pets or something."_

He feels his breath knocked out of his body, the pain of under-oxygenation reminding him that he's still alive.

_"Not my neck. Only once. Only tonight, okay?"_

He feels that hand rough on his shoulder, the pressure pinning him down reminding him that he's still alive.

_"Quick, just go and hide. Please, go. I love you."_

He feels the jolt of that memory, the ache of the reality that it sends to his heart reminding him that he's still-

He can feel his pulse in every inch of his body. Every small fibre is throbbing to the beat of his heart, the sound resonating so loudly in his ears that he fears he will go deaf from it. If he doesn't go deaf from the screaming first.

He's not sure who's screaming at first. The voice is high pitched, displaced. It doesn't sound right against the backdrop of the freezing alley with the bass beat of Dan's heart. It's almost like a misplaced vocal line, and Dan almost laughs at the poetry running through his head, despite the rather large stake protruding from his chest.

A smile breaks out on his cracked lips. Not because he's happy - god, no. He doesn't want to die. Not yet, not here, not like this. His body is throbbing with pain and his head feels like its going to explode from the reality of the situation - he is _dying_. He's not happy, but he's euphoric, and he slides down the wall to the ground with a wide grin on his face.

Hands grip his own. They're cold against the warmth of his tanned skin, and normally he would crack a joke to Phil about how his hands feel like those of a corpse. Now, though, those hands are the only thing he has keeping him tied to earth, and he doesn't dare risk Phil moving them.

"Dan," a whispered word penetrates the resounding music around him, just about audible above the drumming of his pounding head.

"Phil?" Dan asks, trying to get his eyes to focus on the man hovering over him. His stomach turns when his mind skips to all of the times Phil has been hovering over him before.

But it's not like those times, nothing like those times. It's cold, he's cold. The screaming has stopped, but only just, muffled by hands pressed over mouths and eyes glassy and wet, he's sure. It sounded like something like that, the way it went. But most pronounced, most different, is the pain that starts in his chest and spreads through his veins like electrical pulses through circuitry.

Maybe that's all he is for now. A circuit. Wires for veins and battery acid for blood, warm and aching as he feels it spill. Or maybe that's just the electric shock of the wound, torn cables for broken skin.

He's the only person in the world, aside from Phil, just about breaking the haze in his vision and keeping him tied to the ground. He smiles, wanly.

“No, no, no, Dan,” Phil’s mouth hardly moves as he talks, hands cradling either side of Dan’s face. Dan can feel the blood, can feel the sticky substance clinging to his flesh where Phil’s fingers lie.

“Hey, your hands are dirty, get them off me,” he half-giggles, delirium bubbling through him at the same time as tears spring in the back of his eyes. His stomach clenches with the laugh, and a smile passes over his lips as he realises that he’s dying.

He’s dying. Right here, right now. Not in ten years, not in fifty, not at the hands of inescapable oblivion. The thing that’s killed him is still lodged in his chest, buried deep within mangled flesh.

“ _Dan_ ,” it seems to be all Phil can say, and Dan wishes that he could summon enough strength to punch the guy lightly for his lack of words. God, he’s dying and Phil can’t even think of anything pertinent to say.

“Do something.” That voice isn’t Phil’s.

“Like what?” Phil spits, not taking his eyes off Dan for a second. In the hazy mess before his eyes Dan can only just make out the dripping tears on Phil’s face, falling in zig-zag train tracks and paving way for others to follow.

“Don’t let him die. Help him, oh _God_ ,” it’s that voice again, and Dan barely even registers that it’s familiar. “You’re a vampire, you’re meant to be powerful or something, fuck, _do something_ ,”

“I can’t, I can’t do _anything_ ,” Phil’s voice is frantic, a slight edge of panic setting in that Dan can only expect. “Not unless I-”

Phil stops himself before he even suggests it. He has Dan in his arms, and he doesn’t dare even whisper it, not for fear of Dan hearing and latching right onto the idea. Because, God, he might have promised once, might have promised that he would do it jokingly, but he can’t do it. He won’t do it, not to Dan.

But Phil is selfish. He doesn’t want Dan to die, not yet, not when they still should have so long left. And it might be a fleeting amount of time in Phil’s eyes, but he wants every second. He can’t lose Dan. He can’t.

“Phil,” Dan mumbles, and Phil nods, biting his lip, “Phil, you promised me. There is something you can do. You promised.”

“Promised what? Fuck, do something, he’s going to _die_ ,”

Phil ignores PJ. He ignores the hunter’s desperate pleads and instead just stares at Dan, mouth opening and closing a little gormlessly.

_"Tell you what, Dan. If you're ever dying, give me a call, okay?"_

“I don’t want to die, Phil.” Dan’s voice is barely even there anymore, and Phil feels so _sick_ he’s sure he might pass out. “Please. I want you to.”

Phil shuts his eyes because God, _God_ , it's all moving too quickly. His thoughts are scrambled, puzzle pieces that have been shaken inside a box, and he can’t quite put them together and come to a decision. The only thing he knows is that his instincts are absolutely _screaming_ at him not to do this, not to put Dan through the same pain that he himself had to go through God knows how many years ago now.

“Please,” it only takes one small, pleading word, though, from the mouth of a boy he cares about - the mouth of a boy he _loves_ \- to make his previously so secure instincts hesitate. The idea of Dan dying in front of him is paralysing, but he knows that if he waits too much longer it doesn’t matter what decision he makes because nature will decide for him.

“It’s going to hurt. Fuck, this is going to hurt. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Phil whispers, and he pulls down Dan’s shirt a little. Even right now, even with all of this happening around him, the thudding of Dan’s heart is still ever-present, like a curse he’ll never be able to shift.

Despite his distance, he can see the slight quiver of the vein as it pulses, and he feels his teeth pressing against his bottom lip, trembling almost with anticipation. He leans forward and drags the teeth along the skin of Dan’s neck, prolonging things just a little longer. Perhaps if he prolongs them, he’ll change his mind, he’ll stop himself from doing something that he’s pretty sure he’s going to regret.

“Do it, do it _now_ ,” the voice isn’t Dan’s, and Phil has half a mind just to go against it out of spite. But well, Phil always has been too willing to comply to others’ demands for his own good.

Both his teeth sink into the flesh at the same time, digging beneath the skin and lodging themselves in the crimson river rushing through Dan’s veins. There’s a relief, a hit, almost instantly, even before he starts to suck on the wound. He stays there for a moment, ignoring how even in this state Dan’s tilting his head back, exposing more of his skin to Phil’s teeth.

Phil convinces himself that it’s just a sign that Dan’s okay with what he’s doing and keeps going, leaving less time than he’d like to between the penetration and when he starts to suck. The second he starts, he feels the blood pooling into his mouth, just like every other time that it has when Phil’s fed off Dan, but this time it’s different. This time, there’s no finesse about it, nothing exactly sexual. He takes _gulps_ of the liquid spilling into his mouth, draining it as quickly as he dares. It’s such a delicate balance; he has to take _a lot_ , more than usual, but take too much and Dan will die before he gets a chance to bite and press his own arm up against Dan’s mouth.

His fingers are trembling as he lifts them, reaching for Dan’s cheek. He trails them down the skin, finding it too cold beneath his fingers. As his digits keep moving, he finds the surface wet beneath his fingertips, and a tear falls down his own face as he realises that Dan’s crying.

But he doesn’t stop. Not once. To stop now would be disaster, would entail certain death. If he’s going to do this, then he’s at least going to try and do it properly.

“Phil,” Dan breathes, his head spinning. He can feel how much more Phil’s drinking from him than usual, can feel how _light_ he’s becoming. If he could, he would have reached up to tug at Phil’s jumper right about now, reached up to stop him. But this, he tells himself, is what needs to be done if he wants to stay alive.

And he _does_. He doesn’t want to die. He wants Phil to live, but not himself to die.

Phil pulls away from his neck just as the world around him fizzles away.

Phil sees Dan’s eyes close when he pulls away, and every ounce of his body is shaking now. He pulls his arm up to his face and sinks his still blood-coated teeth into his arm, half-mangling it on order to spill enough blood for Dan.

By the time he’s ready, Dan is gone, and Phil has to open the boy’s mouth. He holds his arm over Dan’s mouth and tenses it, letting the drops fall.

Somehow, everything’s fallen quiet by the time that Phil’s finished. Not even PJ dares to say a word, and they just sit there, staring at the seemingly lifeless form of Dan in front of them. Phil doesn’t even try to stop his tears, letting them continue as he waits for agonising minutes for Dan to stir again, and the reality crosses his mind that he might have been too late.

When Phil told Dan that Dan would rather die than be turned, he’d meant it. Excruciating doesn’t even begin to cover it. The _scream_ that Dan lets out when his eyes fly open reminds Phil _exactly_ why he hesitated. He can barely even call it a scream; it’s more of a wail, something that finds its way behind closed eyelids in nightmares. It reminds Emma of when PJ managed to drag Chris back to the hideout; it reminds Phil of the night he himself was turned; it reminds PJ of the countless, _countless_ times he’s heard the same kind of noise in his dreams.

It doesn’t last long. The second it’s over, Dan’s eyes are closed again, his body unmoving just like it had been, just as if it were dead.

“Oh my God, is he-” Emma starts, and it’s only then that Phil even vaguely remembers the presence of the other two people in the alleyway. He glances up, first to Emma and then to PJ, and shakes his head quickly.

“No, no he’s not. I don’t think. I think- I think it’s working. But it’s going to be morning soon, we need to move,” his words shake in the air around them, but neither of the other two seem to notice. At least, if they do, they ignore the apparent anxiety of the person giving them orders and simply do what they’re told instead, moving round, seemingly to help Phil carry Dan.

Phil drags him to his feet and somehow manages to get an arm draped around Emma and an arm draped around PJ, giving him just a moment’s respite from the dead weight that’s been on his arms for quite a while. A quick glance down at the blood that coats him is all he can stomach before he turns away with repulsion, looking back to Dan instead.

He reaches forward before PJ and Emma start moving him and pulls the stake out of Dan’s chest. PJ opens his mouth to protest, but Phil shakes his head, “It won’t matter anymore. If it’s working, then it won’t make a difference, and if it’s not working then he’s…”

PJ doesn’t let him finish his sentence. The green-eyed boy is already dragging Dan along the alley back towards the apartment before Phil gets to voice the reality of the situation, and there’s a flicker of gratitude in Phil for just a moment that he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

-

“He’s going to be hungry when he wakes up.”

PJ freezes, his hand still poised on the end of Dan’s bed. He’d thought he was alone, he could have sworn that the only person that voice could possibly belong to had left. All he wanted was five minutes, _five minutes_ , to see Dan without having to be in the presence of that thing standing in the corner of Dan’s bedroom.

“I know,” PJ mumbles.

Of course he knows. God, how could he _ever_ forget the moment when Chris woke up and they’d had to restrain him against the wall, holding him there with everything they had? God, how could he _ever_ forget the way that Emma’s face fell with shock when he’d said what he had, when he’d told them what to do? And God, how could he ever forget how they’d refused to do it, so he’d had to do it himself?

“I wouldn’t be around for that if I were you. I can satiate him for now with my blood before I have to…" He trails off, his words fading into unsettled silence. It's clear by the way PJ tenses for just a second that he knows what that means.

“Until you have to leave to get someone," PJ finishes. "and then he’ll be here just with us. And he won’t be able to control it, will he?" It’s rare that PJ’s voice is this quiet, but he supposes that Phil doesn’t know that. Phil won’t be able to detect the small changes in his volume, his pitch, and his speed. The only people that can are either hiding from him down the corridor, or are lying _dead_ on the bed in front of him.

“No,” Phil concedes, looking down at his feet rather than PJ.

“Right. Solutions, then. Either you get someone before he wakes up, or Emma or I-”

“Don’t say that.” Phil interrupts, knowing _exactly_ what PJ is going to suggest.

He kept Dan alive. This is what he had to do to keep Dan alive. But what the hell would be the point in that if Dan wakes up to find that Phil had let him _kill_ one of his best friends? There’s no way in hell that Dan would ever talk to him again, let alone trust him.

Besides, ignoring consequences, the idea of letting Dan feed off his friends makes him feel sick.

“It’s the most logical-”

“No, it's _suicide_ ," Phil says, the dark correction burning in his mouth. It makes the back of his throat dry, and he coughs quietly, moving one hand to cover his mouth. It stops mid air when he sees the pair of feet approaching him.

There it is. The thudding of a human heart, the pounding that Phil usually fights against every day, that he _despises_.

This, though. This is the thudding of the heart of a man that was going to kill him. This is the thudding of the heart of a man that almost killed the person that he _loves_. This is the thudding of the heart of a man that forced Phil to do the one thing that he’d sworn to himself he never would.

No matter how much Phil tries, he’s still a victim of his own biology. Evolution or whatever the fuck it was that created his kind created them to survive, to kill, and to avenge. And right now, the only thing that’s holding him back from letting his wiring take over is the pale brunette still passed out on the bed.

“Even _if_ it's suicide. You can't tell me that it isn't logical.” Phil tilts his head upwards at the sound of PJ’s voice,  “No one else is dying on me.”

“Except that’s bullshit, because this won’t be the only time.” Phil takes a deep breath, allowing it to rattle slightly at the back of his throat, “Because he’s not going to just be hungry _once_ , is he? So don't play martyr."

“As if you can talk-”

“At least I never killed anyone just for _fun_ , or whatever the hell it is that you get out of vampire hunting." Phil sighs out a breath. "Look, I get it; we're dangerous. Destructive. Ungodly, unearthly, whatever the hell else you want to say, but most of us don’t kill for fun. If we did, there’d be far more people turned. Most of us _hate_ turning people, hate killing them. We do what we have to in order to survive, whereas _you_ -”

“Do what we have to in order to stop _you_ from killing us!”

“Really?” The vampire says quietly, dropping his gaze again. He shakes his head. "From what I saw, you were killing blind. I get why you'd want to kill me and everything, so that doesn't bother me at all, but the fact that you didn't stop when he-”

“That doesn’t matter.” PJ takes a step back, and Phil lowers the arm that he’d kept up without even really thinking. “Let me, please,”

“I won’t-”

Phil doesn’t get to finish. He’s interrupted by a small groan which both PJ and Phil know can only come from one person in the room, and they’re both to the bed in no time, Phil rushing right to the side and PJ hanging back at the end.

If there’s anything that compares to the feeling of being dragged back to life, the only thing Dan can say it’s like is waking up with a hangover from the mother of all bar crawls, and then immediately being run over by a double decker bus. It’s nothing compared to what he felt just days ago, but it’s definitely enough to weigh down his limbs and make every light too bright and send pain coursing through his veins every time he tries to move.

Which is, unfortunately, exactly what he tries to do the second he opens his eyes. Using his elbows, he tries to push himself up into some kind of sitting position, and the rush of burning pain that floods through every inch of his body the second he does almost makes him scream out. As it is, he whimpers, the sound far too pathetic even by his standards.

Lying on his back, he realises, is the best way to minimise the pain, so he stays as still as he can, not daring to budge for fear of the pain being magnified again. He has _no_ idea where he is apart from the fact that it’s somewhat comfortable beneath him, and the thought crosses his mind for a moment that _fuck, is heaven actually in the clouds_?

That thought almost makes him laugh out loud, but he catches it in fear of how much it would hurt.

“Dan?” The word rings in his ears, sending a searing jolt of pain through his head. He groans, lifting his hands and using them to cover his ears.

“God, do you have to be so _loud_?” He asks in return, finding the burn lessening to more of an ever-present throb that makes him feel nauseous more than anything else.

“Coming out of your mouth, Daniel Howell, that’s really saying something,” a different voice, a harsher one, whispers, and the sound is more discordant. He recognises it almost immediately, and isn’t quite sure whether he’s glad of its presence or not, considering the fact that the presence of that voice seems to imply the inevitable absence of-

“Dan,” the same voice that greeted him when he woke up repeats itself, seemingly ignoring PJ’s comment. “How are you feeling?”

Honestly, Dan isn’t sure of the answer to _that_ question. Everything _hurts_ , of course; he’s in absolute fucking _agony_.

But at the same time, everything seems to be a little bit heightened. Phil told him, once, about how his senses were enhanced, about how he could hear things that no human could ever hear, about how he could smell things that humans have no need to smell, about how his vision is much more acute than it would be naturally.

To start with, there’s the two rhythmic thudding patterns pulsing in his mind, unsynchronised with each other and one slightly faster. He has no idea what the hell they are, but he really wishes that they would just _stop_.

“I think someone stabbed me,” is the answer he settles with, acutely aware of the particular centre of the burning being in the area just above his heart.

“Yeah. Do you remember?” Phil asks, thankful that Dan has his eyes shut so he can’t see the way he bites his own lip with worry. It’d be easier for Dan, Phil thinks, if Dan didn’t remember. If he didn’t remember the days it took his body to rewrite its chemistry, if he didn’t remember that Phil had been the one to sink his teeth into Dan’s neck, and especially if he didn’t remember that it had been PJ to put the stake in his heart.

“Is he awake?” A third voice joins the mix, a girl’s this time - Emma’s? - and he just about musters the courage to open his eyes and take a look at the three of them.

Sure enough, there’s Emma stood in the doorway, hair strewn all over her face. Then there’s Phil, hovering over him with a set frown and a face even paler than usual. And then there’s PJ, stood on the other side of the bed to Phil, his arms crossed as if protecting himself.

“Good to know that when I die I’ll get a good number of people at my funeral,” he quips, closing his eyes again to block out the small amount of light that’s still somehow seeping into the room, “Although, was maybe expecting a few more. You three are great, don’t get me wrong, but was sort of expecting, like, a parade, maybe.”

“Dan.” Phil’s voice takes on a tone that Dan would usually describe as ‘that voice that PJ uses when he’s pissed with my antics’, and Dan takes it as his cue to shut up, and, for once, he actually pays attention to that cue. “I need to know how much you remember.”

“Uhm,” Dan begins, drawing a deep breath, which somehow feels foreign in his lungs, “I remember. Well, most of it, I guess. I remember PJ… and then I remember you, and what I told you, and then I remember that it hurt a lot…”

He trails off, finding himself distracted by the slightly quickening pace of one of the thuds he could hear before. It seems closer now, too, and it feels oddly disconcerting.

“What’s that noise?” He asks before anyone else gets to say anything, and Phil’s lips fall even further. “Phil?”

“PJ, Emma, get out.” Phil says, avoiding answering Dan’s question. If Dan had his eyes open, he would have seen Phil crane his neck round to send a death glance to Emma, and then turn to give the same look to PJ. He would see how Emma heeds Phil’s warning and cautiously backs out, glancing over her shoulder at Dan the whole time, and he would see how PJ doesn’t even budge.

“Dan, do you remember what I did to you, because I need to know how much I’ve got to explain to you.” Phil asks, voice low.

Dan takes in another sharp breath, slightly dizzied by how _hungry_ he feels. “Yeah.”

PJ tightens his grip around his elbows.

“Right. Then you know then, really, what that sound is, don’t you?” Phil asks quietly, trying to be as tactful as it’s even possible to be in these kinds of situations. It might be good, he thinks, knowing Dan, just to outright say it, but he can’t push the image in the back of his mind of the first time that he realised what he actually needed to feed on, and that didn’t even happen until after he’d done it.

“Yeah.” Dan admits, equally as quiet as Phil.

“Liguori, get out,” Phil instructs again, this time not bothering to afford PJ the courtesy of using his first name.

“No.” PJ replies adamantly, and that makes Dan open his eyes again.

Even the dim light is shocking to his eyes, sending pangs of pain running through the back of his eyeballs. The blinds are down and the lights are off so he has no idea how it’s this bad, but he hopes to God that it gets better than this soon.

Still, he endures it, forcing himself to look at PJ, who’s starting to roll up his sleeve. Dan frowns, looking back at Phil, trying to ignore the pounding he can hear in his head.

And then he understands, and then his gaze snaps back to PJ, the burning sensation in his eyes almost completely forgotten as a surge of urgency rushes through him.

“No, PJ." he creaks out, forcing himself to sit upright despite the pain that floods his being. "No. No fucking way, I-”

“There’s no other option,” PJ says calmly, expression set as he rolls up his sleeve a little more. He notices the way that Dan’s eyes flicker down to his exposed skin and prominent veins, a flicker of hunger flashing across Dan’s face until the brunette shakes it away.

“No. No, there has to be another option. I can’t, what if I can’t stop, what if I hurt you?”

“Come on, Dan. I almost killed you three days ago. This is the least I can do. I can cope with the pain; you know I can.” PJ reasons with a shrug.

He glances at Phil, who’s still sat at the other end of the room, not moving a muscle. He sent Emma out, but she’s probably still waiting just outside the door, hearing every word falling from PJ's mouth.

“This isn’t right. You’re my friend. You’re my best friend. I’m not risking hurting you.”

“You’ve got to,” Phil suddenly chimes in, voice quiet and hard, and both men look up to face him. Dan could swear that Phil looks even paler than usual, and he shudders at the sight of the stony expression on Phil’s face. He doesn't know how he feels about the expression of - what is that, _surprise? -_ that he sees on PJ's face when he looks up at him.

“No. No, this isn’t- This isn't how it should be. I’m not about to fucking feed off PJ."

“It’s either that, or I go out and get you someone, or you could feed off me. I don’t have any supplies left. And in that time, I leave you alone with PJ and Emma who you could very easily hurt if it gets too bad, and it could get bad quickly. It’s your first feed, Dan. You need it, and you need it quickly, or you’re not going to be stopped from hurting your friends, and my blood isn’t going to do the job right.” Phil’s voice is far too quiet, too even, for it to sit right with Dan.

Desperately, the brunette shakes his head, trying to keep his eyes torn away from PJ's oh so open and inviting arm. He tries to move backwards, get up, anything just to get him away, to find that his limbs won't comply with his brain. His eyes widen with terror when he sees PJ walking towards him.

Dan has been friends with PJ long enough to know the man almost like the back of his hand. No matter how much PJ always tries to hold himself back, Dan’s always been able to see through in one way or another. Now, however, he can’t discern a single one of the thoughts running through PJ's head. All he can hear is the thumping of the only live heart in the room, and the overwhelming scent of PJ's blood is making him feel dizzy.

He doesn’t want to. He swears he doesn’t. But he can’t stop it, and his teeth are in PJ's arm the second the flesh is put in front of him. Barely registering a thing, he spins the two of them around, digging deeper, almost trembling with the relief of finally getting what he needs, no matter how wrong this is.

“Keep going.” PJ gasps out, and Dan’s aware of movement behind him, but he pays little attention to it. He just keeps going, not a single comprehensible thought running through his head. It’s like everything except primal instincts have shut themselves off, and it’s far better than any high he’s experienced.

Because he can _feel_ it. He can feel every drop dripping down his throat, burning the flesh with in the best way and sending shocks down his spine. His mind, just for a moment, flickers back to when Phil drank off him for the first time and honestly, he can see why Phil wasn’t quick to stop. If being fed off felt good, then feeding is like paradise.

“That’s enough.” A hand rests on his shoulder and he snarls. He’s about to move whoever it is off him, but the man he has his teeth in – he’s distantly aware that he knows this person, that this is in some way wrong, but he can’t place it – does it for him, batting the hand away.

“Let him. I deserve it.” The five words seem to spur something in the other presence in the room as hands are on him more forcefully this time, pulling Dan away with far more ease than Dan would have expected.

His teeth tear nonetheless. A small whine of desperation falls from the back of his burning throat, and it sounds pathetic even by his standards. He tries to pull back against the hands that are trying to tug him away, but his efforts are futile against whoever it is, and his resistance barely lasts.

It takes a moment or two for him to blink himself back into some kind of reality. The hands are gone off his shoulders, and he looks up, searching for them again. He searches for the owner of the hands - no, for _Phil_ \- and for whoever it was that he had his teeth sunk-

The stench of blood is still overwhelming, and it only takes one look at PJ to realise why. PJ, his best goddamn friend, stood there with blood dripping down his arm from two ragged puncture marks, elongated by the way Dan’s razor teeth sliced the skin as he was pulled away. The flow is heavy and PJ is _pale_ , far too pale to be within the realms of normality, and Dan watches on in horror as Phil tries to steady PJ on his feet, tries to get PJ to apply pressure to his own wound.

“No,” and it’s PJ’s refusal that tells Dan everything he needs to know. Phil has to press his palm against PJ’s arm instead as he half-drags him away from the wall he’s propped up against, pulling him towards the bed that Dan vaguely remembers waking up on.

He doesn't remember getting up.

And there’s PJ, _dying_ in front of him, and all Dan’s eyes can focus on is the crimson river forming on PJ’s arm, the thudding of that heart still amplified a thousand times more than it ever was before this happened to him.

“God damn it,” Phil mutters to himself as PJ falls out of his arms and onto the bed. “Dan, get Emma,”

Dan doesn’t hesitate. The first step he takes off the spot he’d situated himself on sends a spike of dizziness right to his head, but he finds with each one it gets a little easier to steady himself, a little easier to think beyond the sound of the heartbeat. He has no idea how Phil copes with this all the time, how Phil managed to be around Dan so much, seemingly without even thinking about feeding from Dan until Dan suggested it.

His hand is on the door handle for his room before he’s processed the action and he pulls it open, sure enough finding a rather angry looking Emma behind the door.

He knows she must have heard every word, but he figures by the way her lips are pursed and her arms are crossed that she didn’t quite catch how bad it’s ended up. And she’s about to open her mouth to say something, probably to chastise Dan about even thinking about feeding off PJ, but then her eyes are looking beyond Dan’s shoulder, looking into the room behind him.

“Fuck,” she breathes, pushing Dan right out of the way. She’s with Phil in seconds, taking over in applying pressure to the wound.

The wound that _Dan_ left.

“Let me,” he hears Emma say, and Phil doesn’t even seem to think twice about stepping away. Dan watches as Phil looks down at his hands, and Dan’s eyes fall to the same bloodied palms. The first thing he notices is that they’re shaking.

“Fucking idiot,” Phil breathes as he walks past Dan, knocking the brunette with his shoulder. Dan frowns, turning on his heel to follow Phil.

“Phil, I-”

“Not you, Jesus, not you,” Phil says quickly, as if he’d realised that Dan might have taken his words as pertaining to himself, “Stupid hunters, thinking they know exactly what they’re doing, thinking they know the dangers. Thinking that being all self-sacrificing is a good fucking way to live,”

And that, Dan thinks, probably is a slight dig at him. He’d _never_ call himself a self-sacrificing person. In fact, he knows full well that he’s pretty much the opposite. Throwing himself in front of PJ’s stake to protect Phil wasn’t an act of self-sacrifice, it _wasn’t_. Because that’s not who he is, and honestly, it’s not who he particularly wants to be. He was barely even thinking when he did it, he can’t remember the exact moment when he decided that this is what he was going to do.

He doesn’t voice any of that. Instead, he just stands in the door frame of his bathroom and watches as Phil tries to wash the blood away, his fingers trembling as he does.

“He’s still a good person, Phil,” Dan whispers, taking a step forwards and trying to help Phil. The second he’s close to Phil’s hands, he realises that the reason Phil’s shaking has little to do with the consequences of what’s just happened and everything to do with the fact that the smell is simply overwhelming. It had taken Dan a lot to control himself from being right back on PJ like a fucking leech and he wasn’t standing close; he can’t imagine the amount of self-control it must have taken for Phil to keep off PJ.

Dan takes one of Phil’s hands in his own and starts to scrub the red away using a flannel.

“He’s an idiot, he shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Dan says through gritted teeth as he finishes with one hand and starts with the other.

“Fucking- Dan, the guy _stabbed_ you. He made me turn you. You could have _died_ , right there and then. And then he got you to feed off  him-”

“Because you let him.” Dan’s motions become more vigorous, and he knows that if he’s any harsher he’ll start to hurt Phil.

“Only because he put the idea in my head.”

“This isn’t his fault. The first bit, sure, maybe that’s his fucking fault. The feeding isn’t. That’s my fault, and that’s your fault.” Dan hears his voice wobbling as he speaks, and he’s not about to let himself _cry_ during an argument. Instead, he throws the flannel down into the sink and brings his fist up to his mouth, pressing it hard against his lips to try and stop the inevitable.

“You’re a vampire. It’s in your nature. He’s a human. It’s not in his to want to die-”

“What would you know, Phil? How long has it been since you were human, huh?” At least now, he thinks as he pauses for breath, the shaking in his voice could be mistaken for anger, “It’s only been a few days for me, I think I remember. And you don’t know what that guy’s been through, you haven’t seen him go downhill. You can’t speak about human nature, Phil, so don’t try.”

When Phil turns around to spit something back, he finds an empty bathroom. He takes a shuddering breath and looks down at the water running across his palms, feeling his stomach turn.

-

PJ doesn’t remember the last time that he saw Dan cry like this.

It’s been a long time, and that’s all he knows. It used to be that Dan came to him when anything was bothering him, and it usually ended up with tears, with PJ’s shirts having been ruined more than once by it. He doesn’t know exactly when it stopped, but Dan must have realised, even without knowing about all the hunter business, just how wrapped up PJ was in his own problems, to the point where he stopped seeing PJ about the things that made him upset.

He feels slightly sick at the prospect of that, and even more so at the thought that this is what it took to get him to see his own self-obsession. It took Dan almost _dying_ in front of him to make him realise that.

It’s been so long, he realises, that he’d forgotten how Dan looks when he cries. He’d forgotten about the slight shaking of his shoulders, forgotten about the way he bites his lip as he sobs, as if trying to hide it from everyone else. Now that action as ended with Dan having to hold a tissue to his lip as it bleeds from a cut made by his teeth, and PJ feels a shudder of revulsion running through him as he thinks about those teeth.

His reactions are ridiculous, and he knows it.

Scratching absently at the bandage wrapped around his arm, he takes a step into the living room and tries to plaster a smile across his face, internally cursing himself for choosing the absolute _worst_ time to start smiling for other people.

“Dan?” He says quietly, and Dan snaps his head up to face where the voice came from.

“Oh, Peej,” the brunette says quickly, wiping his eyes and trying to force a grin onto his lips. “Give a guy some warning next time,”

“Sorry.” PJ says, taking a couple of steps and tentatively perching himself on the edge of Dan’s armchair.

Dan’s never been particularly tanned, mostly due to spending about ninety percent of all of his time indoors, but in the dim light Dan is now so pale he almost _glows_. The thought almost makes PJ laugh; God, he feels like he’s been dropped right into the middle of _Twilight_ or one of the other horrific teenage vampire novels that he can’t avoid every time he goes to a book shop.

“I, er, came to say sorry,” he says, and Dan smiles, this time seemingly genuinely.

“You’ve already said that, then.”

“Fuck off, you twat,” PJ replies with a roll of his eyes, “You know what I meant. I came to say sorry for, well, this. And for making you feed-”

“Did Phil put you up to this?” Dan asks, traces of a smile still playing on his lips, but this time lacking warmth.

“Huh? No, I just- I mean, it’s okay, Dan. What you did to me. I deserved it.” PJ shuffles backwards a little in the seat, putting some distance between him and Dan.

He isn’t sure what reaction he expects, but it certainly isn’t the one he gets. Dan pulls his sleeve over his fist and sniffs, wiping the tears away from his eyes. With a very small laugh, he says, “Yeah, you did. Cockblocking me like that in the first place. You wanker.”

PJ sits there, horrified, for just a moment, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide. Then a small noise comes from the back of his throat, and then he’s lost in giggles, his hair falling into his eyes as he laughs. Dan joins him, his voice slightly scratchy from crying and tears starting to fall again as he does.

“God, we are a _wreck_ , man,” PJ says as he tries to catch his breath back, and Dan nods, moving so that he’s sat closer to his friend.

As the laughter dies, PJ looks up at Dan with a soft smile, a slight tinge of concern running through him as he notices that Dan’s still looking rather forlorn. He takes a measured breath before asking, “Did you fight with Phil?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know Dan, I can’t believe that I’m saying this,” PJ starts, and Dan raises an eyebrow, “I mean, he’s a god damn vampire, and you’re one too now, and the whole thing is really fucked up, but, let me tell you something. Just from the way he looked at you whilst you were out, he obviously loves you. And he tried to stop me from making you feed off me, because he knew that you’d be upset when you woke up. So just talk to him.”

“Hypocrite,” Dan replies, leaning forward and poking PJ’s side.

“Huh?” PJ says, looking a little taken aback, and Dan frowns.

“Man, really? Are you that clueless? Chris?” PJ’s face still shows no signs of understanding, and Dan rolls his eyes affectionately. “Look. You just told me that the best way to sort out things between me and Phil is to talk to each other. And it’s the same with you and Chris.” Dan can see PJ shiver, but he presses on, “I know you still care about him, and believe it or not he still cares about you. He’s not a monster, just try to talk to him. You never know, you might be surprised,” Dan grins before adding his final part, “Besides, the sex is _really_ good, believe it or not. Really intense, you know? So worth it.”

“Do you ever stop thinking with your cock, you dickhead?” PJ groans, shaking his head a little with contentment.

“I’m serious though, about the first bit, I mean. You need to talk to him. That’s the only way this is ever getting sorted, PJ.”

PJ can’t disagree with that. He can barely remember the last time he spoke two sentences to Chris unless it was to scold him, let alone tried to hold a proper conversation. He knows for sure that they haven’t spoken extensively since Chris was turned and God, thinking about it now, he realises how much he’s actually missed it.

“Yeah. Yeah.” PJ concedes, looking down at his hand, stretching it out and focussing on the spaces in between his fingers.

“Dan?” A voice comes from the other side of the room and both men glance up, only to find an almost shocked looking Phil in the doorway. The vampire stops for a moment, looks from Dan to PJ and back again, and shakes his head, mumbling something about how he’ll give them time to talk.

“No, Phil,” Dan stops him, standing up and clambering over the seat towards Phil. “I need to talk to you, we’re done here. Come on, we’ll go to my room,”

PJ’s left staring at their backs, his hand reaching inside his pocket and curling around his phone.

-

“Are you ready?”

“Give me a second, I can’t find my coat-”

“Dan, there’s about twenty coats in your wardrobe, hurry up,” Phil half-growls. Honestly, he’s rather dumbfounded as to why Dan even wants to wear a coat; it’s not like he gets cold easily, and it just serves to weigh him down.

“No, I can’t find the one that I want. Have you seen my McQueen- Oh, got it,” Dan’s voice is muffled as he obviously goes through his things, apparently finding what he wants.

When he steps into the corridor, Phil can’t help but raise an eyebrow. Not through finding the jacket particularly attractive on Dan (the best it does is accentuate the man’s shoulders a little, filling out the upper half of Dan’s body a tad), but because it strikes him exactly how _bad_ Dan’s taste in clothes is. It being leather would be bad enough without the odd skull pattern that Phil supposes is meant to be ironic in some way, and Phil almost laughs outright at the fact that Dan was delaying their trip for _this_.

“What? Like what you see?” Dan asks with a wink when he sees Phil staring, not quite getting the message that Phil wants to get across. Phil sniggers, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m staring at. Come on Dan, we’ve got to go, if we’re not quick we won’t be done by sunrise,”

“Fi-ine,” Dan says with a hint of a whine and a roll of his eyes, “I just wish you would appreciate my careful wardrobe selection better. I mean, Alexander McQueen, Phil. Come on.”

Phil doesn’t reply to that, instead nudging Dan’s shoes towards the brunette with his foot.

Once Dan’s finally agreed to just wear normal shoes rather than go back to his wardrobe and find his designer ones (an agreement made mostly on the basis of Phil promising to let Dan top at some point within the foreseeable future), they quickly run down the stairs and out of the apartment block, turning a corner almost immediately.

“Remember, as always, we don’t tell Emma or PJ. If they happen to be hunting, we get out of there and we get out of there quick; the feed can wait.” Phil mutters below his breath.

“I don’t know how Chris copes just on the blood PJ gets him from blood banks,” Dan says with a shake of his head as the pair of them turn a corner.

“Neither. I tried it once, it was fucking horrible. Poor guy. Hey, look- There,” Phil interrupts, pressing a hand to Dan’s chest to stop the brunette moving.

The cries of the woman are muffled by a hand over her mouth. There’s a knife pressed to her neck and frankly, Dan doesn’t want to know what the guy restraining her has in store. Or rather, what he _had_ in store.

“You get the guy, I’ll get the girl away. She’ll probably run without even looking back, we should be fine.”

“Got it.” Dan says, glancing back at Phil with a toothy grin, fangs long and denting his lip. “Looks like we’re in for a good night.”

Phil’s about to start walking forwards, but Dan catches his arm, pulling him and back and turning him around. He plants a small kiss, barely even there, his lips just brushing against Phil’s, on Phil’s mouth and grins as he pulls away.

“I love you,”

“I love you, too,” Phil says with a fond rolling of his eyes, starting to walk backwards towards the target. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Phil turns to keep walking, and Dan follows with a broad smile.

-

When PJ wakes up, it's dark in his room.

A part of him still feels like it's floating away, half in the realm of sleep, but being pulled back to Earth fast by the pounding in his chest and the way his lungs cannot find air to breathe and the ringing screams still fading in his head.

He shuts his eyes, brings his hands to his face. Another one.

He should be used to them by now; it's been happening for years, always a different face, always a different voice, always a different name. Chris has been a frequent visitor to his nightmares, and so has Emma, and so has every member of his damn team. Dan is making more and more appearances, too. All of them, somehow staining PJ's hands and mind with their own blood, each in different ways.

Tonight, it just happens to be Dan's voice vanishing into nothing as PJ jolts awake, still half lost in terror before he bites his lip and lifts up his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair. He just wishes he didn't remember it all so _clearly_.

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and the still-hazy sight of his fears out of his mind. He's dealt with it before, and will probably deal with it again; he should be used to it. But he's never quite prepared, and never quite okay.

He picks up his phone from his bedside table, pressing the home button and blinking hard when the screen flashes to life, bright light searing his eyes. It's three thirty in the morning.

Three thirty in the morning, and here he is, biting back tears at something as silly as a bad dream.

But before he knows what he's doing, he's sliding his thumb across the lock screen and tapping in his passcode. He doesn't want to call anybody _now_ , doesn't want to hand them troubles as trivial as these.

He flicks through his contact list, barely just able to read names with his sleep heavy eyes.

 _Talk to him_ , Dan's voice says, and it's nice to hear it the way it normally is. Even if it is just in his head.

Still, he hesitates. It's late, and it's dark, and he's not able to talk to _anyone_ , let alone someone he isn't sure wants to talk to _him_ anyway. His lip is starting to sting with the pressure of his teeth.

Before he can talk himself out of it, for once, he listens to what his friends tell him. He taps the name, once, then presses his thumb down on the little green picture of a telephone next to it.

It rings. And rings. And rings. Three times. There's something about that number, PJ thinks, three, how whole and satisfying it is.

"Peej?" The voice on the other end of the line, though PJ is expecting it to be groggy and slow, is alert and soft but sharp with an edge of worry. "Are you okay?"

PJ almost loses his bottle; even _he_ knows it's odd for him to call someone.

"I-" he clears his throat. "No, Chris, I just. I really, we really need to talk. I need to talk to you."

He can almost _hear_ a smile on the other end of the line.

**_The End_ **

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you _so so so so so_ much for your support as regards this fic!!! it really means so much to us  <3333 (especially at the points where this fic made us want to backflip into the sun _oh my god_ )
> 
> hit us up on the tumblr if ur into that (in all seriousness we're more likely to respond to u there cos we're there all the time c:)
> 
>  
> 
> [lauren's tumblr](http://kaleidanscope.tumblr.com)  
> [chloe's tumblr](http://northerndanpour.tumblr.com)


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